Jeder und Panzer
by The Battle Cries Writing Group
Summary: A series of (mostly) connected short stories, with some level of reader interactivity. Ideas are sent by review, and can include location, the next main character's name, and personality. I'll choose tanks. Chapter 6 - Shame. OC/Maho, Kuromorimine, hurt/friendship/romance (implied). Dormant: Work, block and life interference. I'm sorry.
1. Bella la Pioggia

**Jeder und Panzer**

Disclaimer: I own nothing in this piece of fiction, save for the overarching plot

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><p><strong>Bella la Pioggia<strong>

_**"**__**The path of Devotion, especially to the ones you love, is a great labour. To mar it, is to mar oneself." -Edward Prydwen, tank commander**_

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><p>It always rained when Anzio's team lost.<p>

The Italian-themed team had dabbled in financial difficulty every so often, with the most recent spate having resulted in the temporary closure of the Sensha-do team for a few months, having occurred some five years back, when you were a young boy whose father happened to own an Italian tank on his farm. Of course, he had left the homeland for a year or so, taking you with him so that the farm wouldn't be missing its prize workers. During that year, he trained the team to utilise their tanks to the best of their capabilities. You also agreed to stay in his stead during that year, and he had entrusted the tank to you. When he returned, he'd left you there to watch over his tank, with enough money to last a full three months, a laptop with Skype, and your uncle Nicodemus.

It was also the year you'd met her.

Anchovy, as Chiyomi Anzai calls herself, was always the boisterous sort of person, but you know she regards her friends with the highest amount of respect and kinship one could ever want. Even so, if she felt she was hurt by something, be it verbal or physical, she would lash out for a brief time, breaking into a degenerative rage before hurriedly apologising to everyone she'd hurt and, normally, blamed herself for everything and did so in a fashion that she effectively shut down almost entirely to the outside world. As a result of you considering yourself a friend, you took it upon yourself to try snap her out of these funks she frequently fell into.

The fact remained, though, that you always had to hold the umbrella.

Even as the rain pours down into the central portion of Anzio 'city', which were in truth large towns separated by stretches of open land, you find yourself wondering whether the _Aquila_-class ship would face the rumoured fate of Oarai - threatened with closure, at least according to the rumours. The ship had been your home for five - nearly six - years, and in turn the focal point in life, outside of the many Skype calls you share with your family and friends. On occasion they even come over to the ship during their holidays for a few days, your family even spending entire holiday seasons on the ship, much to both your joy and chagrin. Given the fact that you were in charge of the three-man Fiat-Ansaldo M11/39,-the Carro Armato, according to official designation back in the war - you are a frequent sight in the tank hangar. The tank itself was commandeered by three members of the shop club during the actual fighting

"We're here." the despondent tone to her voice pulls at every last one of your heart strings. It doesn't just pain you to see your friend badly upset over this, it outright tears at you. You've known her since she had first arrived at the Academy, and when she'd made the junior high Sensha-do team at the start of her second year you'd been overjoyed at being able to teach your friend something for once, rather than the other way around.

Taking your seat at the bus stop, the two of you fall into a silence. The reason being is that she gave up on talking about her failings and all that every time she lost a match, having resigned herself to the bouts of sullen catatonia that followed each crushing defeat. The last time she'd talked had been some months back, after a bout against Saunders, who had barely batted an eyelid during the fight. This time, though, you feel the need to make this silence come to an end, and find yourself surprised and your thoughts disrupted by something.

Anchovy's eyes are closed, her head resting on your shoulder as if it was some form of pillow.

The only sound you heard was a heavy sigh from the defeated Commander.

Kuromorimine had been the opponent this time around, and she'd fallen into a stupor long before the match. Ever since she'd delivered the school a victory on a silver platter during her years as commander of the junior team, Anzio had been on a losing streak that stretched far over ten miles, and had survived years of tournaments one after the other. It had made a disconcerting amount of sense that she had been expecting the loss, but not one that bad. The Nishizumi-run school had torn the Italian themed team apart with the efficiency of the Germans they were styled after, and that had been the nail in the coffin for the poor girl sat next to you.

Anzio had never stood a chance, not with the few tanks it had. They'd swamped you, and the fact that the commander of that monster of a tank had never revealed them self had left some strange suspicion in your mind. It was generally rude to not show yourself at the end of the match, as it was a sign of respect among tankers, but the lady who'd emerged from that had claimed to be the _gunner_, and had informed the gathered tankers that the commander was displeased with Anzio's performance. It didn't help that when she mentioned the commander of that immense tank, she used not feminine terms, instead substituting each and every one you could think of with masculine ones. It was particularly odd, seeing as the only schools that practiced Sensha-do were all girls schools - of course, your presence at Anzio was acknowledged as tank maintenance, which was fair, seeing as you were indeed helping where you could

"Come on, Anchovy," you say in as soft a manner as you could, paying the fare and taking a seat near the back of the sparsely populated bus "Let's get a pizza, my treat." The slightest ghost of a smile appears on her face, framed by the now dampened and not-so-drill-like pigtails she was known for

"With all the toppings?"

"All of them." It was hardly the first time you'd tried this, and most times the thought of a warm meal after walking outside in the cold rain in school uniform had normally been enough to get her out of her stupor. The smile on her face broadened slightly, and you hope to whatever deity was watching you at that moment that this would work, before you return the smile "You just go back to resting a little bit, I'll wake you when we get there." And with a small nod and a smile given for appreciation, she proceeds to nod off once again, the rest of the trip made in gentle silence.

Tankery didn't matter that much to you, but she cared deeply for it, being the Commander of a team and all. The only thing you know of the sport was your own tank, the Fiat-Ansaldo, and even then, you barely knew how to drive it, mostly due to your father deciding to give history a more realistic touch when it came to the Second World War. All you know was that it needed maintenance due to the pressure of battle, and that was what you were best at – keeping that one tank from falling apart around its crew. Were the schools not held under the stranglehold of the Nishizumi school, perhaps you take more interest in the sport, rather than the maintenance. With these thoughts in your mind, you too slowly drift into thought. After all, it wasn't that Anzio really needed, you – all you did was comfort their leader after another terrible defeat and look after a single tank that wasn't really effective, but was kept because it wasn't a replica and had actually served in the war from 1939 through to 1944.

The Japanese loved their tanks having history, regardless of the role they played.

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><p>She seemed to enjoy the Pizza. That in and of itself was good news, but now she just seemed to have withdrawn into herself once again. The two of you had gotten trenette al pesto – arguably one of her favourite foreign dishes – but, rather than eat it, she was just pushing the pasta around the plate with her fork. This second, stronger bout of sadness must've come from the fact that several of the tanks were damaged to near scrap levels, and the match itself had barely lasted more than an hour or two. It was nearing closing time, and in truth you were thankful that the restaurant was located near her home.<p>

You, meanwhile, have finished your meal, and were waiting patiently for her to even attempt to eat the pasta-based meal. It's nearing closing time, and with a sigh you get to your feet, the downcast Anchovy looking up at you with puppy dog eyes, watering slightly. Once again she's playing at your heartstrings for maximum effectiveness, and succeeds as you hold out your hand, palm up, like some of the gentlemen your father told you about when you were little. The truth being you never considered yourself a knight or hero of any sort, you were just there to keep an eye on your family's investment into Anzio, and care for that. The team Commander's eyes lit up briefly, a faint smile playing across her face as she took it, allowing herself to be pulled gently to her feet.

The two of you walked out, leaving behind one empty plate and one full plate, back into the rain as you open the umbrella once again. Her house was all of fifteen minutes away, a short distance, provided the traffic wasn't busy clogging the streets you should be able to make it there even quicker. After all, it was four streets away.

Minutes pass by fast as the two of you walk along in silence. You feel admiration for her, despite the fact she hasn't spoken since you'd boarded the bus, you can't help but feel admiration for the strength she was displaying. Ever since you'd woken her from her nap, she's kept a straight face, a perfect stone wall of missing emotions, save for the eyes, which you know have glimmered in appreciation at the fact you were once again footing the bill for her meal. You now also know how deep the blow of her latest defeat has really gone, which was pretty far in if she didn't want to even touch one of her favourite dishes.

She didn't speak to you during the walk back, and so you contented yourself with watching cars going by as you walked.

Soon enough you find yourself outside of the three-roomed flat that was Anchovy's house.

Ever the gentleman, you escort her to the door, waiting patiently for her to open it before she gives you a hug for all of your efforts in comforting her. It had become routine, really, for you to receive a hug from the short tempered leader of the Sensha-do team, and you know that she was in capable hands due to the fact that her best friend on the team, who you knew only as 'Carpaccio', who lives two doors down the street from her. Strangely, though, this hug lasts much longer than normal, and as you turn around to walk away, you feel her hand on your shoulder.

She must be standing on the tips of her toes again

"Wait, please." The fact her voice is shaking, and the fact that she was speaking at all, was the only thing telling you that the walls she has built around herself over the course of the past few hours since her defeat were breaking down in front of her. More importantly, though, was the fact she was now attempting to open up to you, one of her oldest friends and a fellow tank enthusiast. This, you figured, was a very important step to figuring out how your friend really worked inside. With a small, reassuring smile, you turn back around and follow her inside, being lead into the living room she sits on an old leather sofa.

The cushions seem to sag under the weight she seemed to carry.

The two of you sat there for some time, with her saying as many words as she's said all night, you merely being the comforting presence. Every so often you look to the window, not that you really need to, the rain pattering against it was more than enough to remind you that it was still raining, and you can still hear. You take the time to investigate the flat from the safety of the sofa – fern green paint was on the walls, blending somewhat seamlessly with the wooden table in front of you. Across from you was a small, battered old portable television, complementing Anchovy's spartan style of life. After a short while, you feel yourself starting to drift off into a peaceful stupor, but you force yourself to remain awake.

The impact of the rain against the glass increased in force, proving that it was no passing shower but an oncoming storm.

As more minutes passed listening to the music provided by the weather outside, you grow bored of watching the rain form intricate patterns on the window pane and you turn to the still silent Anchovy. A slight movement caught your attention, and as you turned to look at her properly, she continued to maintain a strong façade, watching the dead screen of the television, but you can see tears slowly begin to fall down her face and drip onto her pant leggings. Soon enough, you could hear her sob once, a light sob that once again pulled painfully at your heartstrings.

Scarce seconds later, and she began to cry like a broken faucet.

Tears streamed down her face, free of any attempt to halt them. Like so many times before, back before she began to turn you away when she lost, you wrapped a comforting arm about her shoulders. You didn't expect her to wrap her arms around you, however, and wheeze lightly when she all but attempts to crush you against her. With her head burying itself in your chest, using your shirt like a towel, you grimace to yourself and lean back in the sofa. This is far from the first time you'd seen her cry, but never had you seen her cry like this.

Minutes pass by like an eternity as you do all you can to sooth her, to make her calm down, but you fail miserably as she continues to wail like the damned at her own supposed failure to give her team victory. You begin to wonder how long she's been holding the tears back, how long she'd hidden all the hurt from loss after loss. By that point you can feel the tears seep through your shirt and began to soak your skin. You reach your other arm around her and pulled her closer, silently telling her to let out all her tears, that you are there to make her feel better.

The minutes extended into an hour before she stopped crying, all you could hear was the occasional sigh or sniffle. She looked up at you, revealing to you that her make-up had run, and her eyes were bloodshot and puffy. The both of you knew that she looked and felt completely helpless in this situation. Without a word, she closed her eyes once again and simply rested her head against your chest, while you sighed quietly and gently ran a hand along the back of her head, a smile on your face that said 'It's okay, I'm here'.

A short while later and her breathing stabilizes, and it isn't long after that you realise that she has drifted into sleep once again. Were you not feeling drained from helping her, you would have been chuckling at how adorable the scene looked. You decide against disturbing her, however, and shuffle into a more comfortable position as gently as you can. After a minute or so of slow movements, you finally find yourself laying across the sofa's cushions, the sleeping Commander still laying atop you as if you were some giant teddy bear.

As you closed your eyes at long last, you realise that this wasn't as uncomfortable as you thought it would be.

Soon after, sweet sleep finally came to you, carrying you off to the land of dreams.

* * *

><p>When you wake up, it was still raining heavily, the only change being that it was now pitch black outside. You couldn't have been asleep long, as it was already dark when you arrived. An hour or two, at the most. A quick glance at the clock tells you that it was, in fact, one in the morning. You had arrived at around ten, and then you had forgotten about the time almost entirely. As you try to move yourself into a sitting position, you find that Anchovy had shifted position, her head now resting on her arms, still folded on your chest, moments later she looks up at you.<p>

Evidently, she must have gotten up and wiped her face clean of the ruined make-up

"…You're awake." She notes, and you give a simple nod in reply as you attempt to move your right arm, only to find it still wrapped about her, as it had been when you fell asleep. At that moment it occurs to you that you could barely feel your left arm, and so pull at it for a few moments. Slowly, Anchovy sits up, and you did the same, once again taking a seat next to her

"I guess I should get goin-" your words stop dead in your throat as she placed a hand on your leg. She tenses slightly as well

"P-Please stay," She asks, uncertainty heavy in her voice "At least for a while?" you note that it is getting late. Well, not really getting late as much as getting early, and your flat, some streets away, is under the care of your uncle who chose to stay with you. A small smile creeps onto her face as you give another small nod, as your back clicks in protest at the lack of use. Sleeping like you did probably wasn't as good an idea as it seemed earlier, but it was the only choice you had at that moment in time

"I-… Okay then, Anchovy." Your voice is full of appreciation at the offer, as you could still hear the rain against the windows, and you had no intention of getting drenched. "I'll stay." The smile on the Commander's face grows, even as she struggles to supress a yawn. You had been expecting her to get up and go to her room, leaving you on the mildly tattered sofa, but much to your surprise she remains there, quite content to use you as her teddy bear

"… You can have my bed for the night. I'd rather not have you sleep on the sofa." The tone in her voice shifts from uncertain to that one would associate with a commanding officer. You give a small smile and nod in acceptance of her generosity before getting to your feet, but when she noticed that you hadn't moved once you were on your feet, she gave a weak scowl "It's alright. I can manage on the sofa." To you it felt like a false reassurance, but regardless you do as she asked you to do and made your way to her room.

Upon entering her room and closing the door for privacy, you noted that the room is very plain, and also bare. In the corner by the window was a desk, littered with scattered papers, and a variety of pens and pencils. A half-filled bookshelf accompanied a shelf on the wall that was in a similar state of fullness. Two small trophies on the wall shelf caught your eye, your tiredness denying you the opportunity to see what they were for, though the dates on the plaques at their bases indicated they were from some time back.

You then realise they were the trophies she won in the Junior Tank Circuit.

The entire room looks like it's been neglected of cleaning, or anything, for some time. The door opens once again, as Anchovy hurries in and grabs a few clothes from a drawer by the door, before leaving and closing the door again, leaving you to yourself. As was routine for you, you focus on thinking about your day while you remove most of your clothes, leaving you clad only in your underwear and shirt, folding them neatly on the stand next to you before clambering under the olive green bed sheet – you couldn't help but notice a theme with her choice of colours – and turning off the lamp.

Sleep, however, does not come to you.

You toss and turn in the bed for a few minutes, trying to pry yourself away from the saddening thoughts of the state that Anchovy had gotten herself in earlier, after the crushing defeat handed to her by Kuromorimine – she'd always lashed out for the first few minutes, and then spent the rest of her time apologising for not bringing victory back to the school. After that morning's battle, though, she had simply fallen quiet, keeping her tears locked away for the entire day before-

The door opens with a slight creak as Anchovy enters once again.

Her hair was no longer done up in its distinctive drill-bit pigtail style, but rather hung limp about her, framing her face, once again full of uncertainty and distress. It was only when she got closer to you that you notice she was wearing an oversized t-shirt over shorts, both a shade of grey-green. You were quick to sit up, covering your face with your left arm to block out the light from the still open door

"Chiyomi?" you ask, noting the slightest hint of a scowl at the use of her name "D- Did you need something?" the scowl quickly fades back into the distressed face she wore when she first came in. To you, such a look was, well, alien – Anchovy was never nervous

"W- Would you…" she begins, her hands balling into fists briefly at her sides before she tried to reiterate her statement "Could I… I mean…" there is a distinctive lack of concrete words coming from her, and it doesn't take you long to realise that you are inadvertently putting more pressure on her to speak, and that she will only fall back into that shell again if you don't stop. A few moments of absolute quiet follow, before she takes a deep breath and manages to speak a coherent sentence "… I know I said I'd sleep on the couch, but… I want… I want to stay close to you tonight. I don't think… I could sleep otherwise."

"O- Of course." Ever the considerate person, you budge over to as close to the wall as possible, leaving her more than enough room to get into the single sleeper bed. She gives you a small smile, one filled to the brim with appreciation, and hurriedly closes the door before crawling into the bed, immediately latching onto you once again, resting her head on your chest as you wrap your arms around her. The next few seconds are uncomfortable to you, as your faces are mere inches away from one another

"S- Sorry," she says with a nervous chuckle. As she lets go of you and looks away from you swear you catch a slight hint of her cheeks turning red "Y- You first." All you can do is shake your head at her nervousness

"I was simply going to ask why you're so tense."

She turns even redder at that remark, and you can hear her mutter something along the lines of "… Only you…" but then then she speaks up, her voice managing to reach your ears as she pushes herself back against your chest "I… I just wanted a shot, you know? Just… A shot at that happiness I had back when I won those local Sensha-do tournaments in middle-school." You can tell she's looking at those two trophies on the shelf "I tried… Tried so hard," there is a little bit of a hiccup in her voice now, and she's gripping your shirt

"So hard… To win just one tournament… Just once I wanted it to b- be like the good old days… Share the happiness with everyone again…"

"But you can't win with just spirit, as much as you try," You tell her, shooting down that sense of false hope she was trying to gather about herself "And underpowered tanks don't usually win matches, much less tournaments."

"But you never cared about that," she says, looking up at you once again, another one of her small smiles on her face "You were always there, even when we both knew the match was a loss before it started." You went to speak up again, only for her to place a finger over your lips, shushing you "Please… not now," she asks you, her voice suddenly softer, more timid, like it had been earlier.

Like any gentleman would, you oblige her request to remain silent.

You reward is a smile, reminding you that behind the façade of a little dictator, she's nothing more than a saddened little girl

"So many pizzas… and so much pasta," you can't discern her tone of voice as she grips you tighter, though you can make out a faint blush on her face "And I never thought I'd won anything…" you look down at her, an inquisitive look on your face as you ponder where she's going with this conversation.

Then, she looks up at you.

"You silly," she laughs softly, reaching up and running a hand along your right cheekbone. Her eyes are glistening, you can make out the faintest hint of tears running down her face "I've won the most important thing of all…" she begins to giggle, most likely at the dumbfounded presently on your face. You've always liked her, regardless of her temperament, but you'd never thought…

She's takes the silence negatively, shrinking away from you once again

"I- I mean if you'd want someone who's such a loser as-" you refuse to let her degrade herself any more in that manic babbling, and so you do something that either conforms or trashes the idea of you ever being a gentleman.

You lean down and give her a gentle but firm kiss.

It doesn't last long, just a few seconds at most, but you try to put all your feelings for her into it, to let her know that regardless of any outcome, you'll always be there for her. The two of you break apart, and you're forced to wonder whether, like her, you're blushing as bright as the sun.

The warmth that covers your entire face presumably means that yes, you are

"T- That was my first kiss," you can barely hear her muttering, though you can see her face nearing the colour of the wine you two had snuck a glass of that one time after a rare victory. All you can do in response to that remark is smile and nod – as much as you occasionally tried to hide it, it was also your first kiss

"Was it a bad one?" you ask, with that same small smile plastered on your face. She looks away from you briefly, her face an even deeper shade of red than it was before, and then she turns back to you, some of the blush having faded as she gives her verdict

"I- I don't know," she tells you, before a glint you've learned to fear throughout your tenure as a friend to Anchovy appears in her eyes "You- You'll have to do it again." Once again you do the gentlemanly thing to do, and oblige her request. Except this time she beats you to the punch, shuffling up the bed a tad she kisses you first, forcing your head back slightly. Like before, this lasts only a few seconds, but in that short time you realise that you must never, under any circumstances, underestimate the strength of somebody who barely reaches your shoulders.

In response to her kiss, you cock an eyebrow in question

"Well?" you ask, only for her to giggle – truly something adorable from somebody who acts so very imposing – and wrap her arms around you, resting her head on your chest like a cushion. Once again you find yourself making comparisons to a teddy bear "Was that better?"

"I'll think about it…" she mumbles, as sleep begins to take you both "Tell you in the morning… Goodnight."

You simply continue smiling and kiss the top of her head before your eyes close.

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><p>The stove was at medium high in terms of temperature, and the sausages were sizzling away, leaving you waiting patiently for a minute or so until you needed to flip them onto their other side. Cooking wasn't your best subject back home, but uncle Nicodemus had taught you the basics over the course of your stay – normally, you cooked the meals for one day a week during the month-long stays that were family visits – and so, you had taken it upon yourself to make Anchovy a breakfast that was sure to make certain she'd remain cheerful.<p>

When you flip the sausages, you find it was just in time, they were hissing.

Hissing tended to mean they were about to pop in your experience.

Once again you wait, as you rummage through one of the shopping bags from your trip to replenish Anchovy' cupboards and fridge – they weren't just bare, they were literally empty, save for the milk – you pull out the carton of eggs and a loaf of bread. The idea was to make sausage, eggs, and toast, but whereas you'd normally have two pans at your disposal, Anchovy only had one pan in the entire flat. Thankfully, however, the recipe you were going for only required one pan, and some cooking oil. The book you'd found in the cutlery drawer while rummaging for a spatula for the eggs was also proving helpful, giving you a few tips on how not to make the egg yolk pop.

_Flip_.

You'd been doing this process for at least ten minutes, possibly eleven. All you knew was that you'd been up since six after a grand total of five hours sleep. You were practically hardwired to wake up at six, mostly because that was when you used to get to work on the family farm. Even so you found it easier to walk about when there was very few people awake, and those that were normally at work – While the ship was crewed by the students and effectively captained by the student council, it still required some form of infrastructure – leaving you mostly free reign to walk where you please.

You jab at the sausages with a fork, carefully lifting each of the six onto the two plates you'd put on the side earlier. You then cracked the eggs on the rim of the pan, then made certain that the contents poured into the pan.

You soon finish up with two eggs finished and on their plates, just in time for the toast to finish toasting, and with two slices on each plate, alongside the cutlery, you begin to make your way to Anchovy's room. Hopefully, it'd be a welcome surprise for the team commander. As you reach the closed door, you bend down and push the handle with your right elbow, before nudging it open.

Anchovy's sat there with watery eyes, the bed sheets held up to her chest protectively, despite her wearing a shirt

"Anchovy?" you ask, concern showing on your face as you sit next to her again, passing her a plate "Is something wrong?" you wait until she starts eating before you start yourself

"I- I thought you left me without saying goodbye…" she looks relieved, but her voice shows that once again she's hurt inside. Once again you feel your heartstrings tearing themselves apart "Pl- Please, don't leave me alone…" you reach over and place a hand on her shoulder, and once again you feel warmth going to your face, and you knew it wasn't breakfast that was causing it.

This wasn't Anzio's Il very own Duce before you, but a sad and badly upset young girl.

You gently pull her towards you, your foreheads bumping together, though you ignore that and look her in the eyes

"I will always be here for you, Anchovy." You tell her, your voice now soft but firm "Even if I'm not with you when you're down, I'll be here for you. All you have to do is call for me, and I'll come running. I'll always be here for you, Anchovy, because... Because, I love you." The last three words were said with a soft emphasis you didn't even know you put on them, but it succeeded in turning Anchovy's face the colour of a good Italian meat sauce. In turn, Anchovy doesn't say anything, apparently having been somewhat shocked into silence at your declaration, and just nods.

You can feel the warmth radiating from her cheeks.

You merely smile before giving her a light peck on the lips, and then return to your breakfast as if you did this everyday.

For the next quarter of an hour or so the two of you eat in a mildly comfortable silence, and as you finish you reach over for her now empty plate, you note she looks away from you with rosy cheeks

"I'll let you get dressed, then." You tell her, and beginning to stand, only to stop when she reaches out and takes your hand in a light grip

"Thank you," she says, kissing you on the cheek and then looking you in the eye, eyes red and puffy – she must have been crying while you were making breakfast, otherwise you would have heard it "Thank you for everything." The way she says the last part lets you know that she doesn't just mean this morning or last night, but every night, every meal and every match

"You're welcome." You tell her, before taking your leave and letting her get dressed.

You were more than certain uncle Nico would understand your lack of appearance last night. It was very rare for him to jump to conclusions and he spent most of his time thinking things over. At parties and family reunions Uncle Nico had always been the quiet one who waited in the corner, silently demanding that the rest come to him, rather than the other way around. It somehow managed to make him the heart of the party, and normally spent the rest of those with a small smile on his face

"You're going to leave soon, aren't you?" you didn't even notice that Anchovy had been coming towards you until just now, and from the sound of her voice, she was on the verge of becoming upset again, which was something you don't want to see. Your response to this is to place the plates in the sink and hurry over to the small tank commander – she barely comes up to your chest – before giving her a hug to calm her down

"It's only for an hour or so, just to explain why I wasn't at home last night, alright?" you explain to her – Anchovy had left her parents on the mainland, them having decided that she'd have an easier time learning about the spirit of independence if she was left to her own devices – a small, sad smile on your face "After all, I'm going to be needed to help with the tanks. You can come with me, if you want - Uncle Nico knows you, he'll understand." It was also Friday, which meant a school day, and you didn't want her to be late. You yourself were only vaguely 'taught' there, instead spending most of the day assisting the automotive and mechanic clubs with maintenance of the tanks.

You even had your own overalls, coloured dark blue to denote it as yours, compared to the usual green that was everywhere

"I… Okay." She still looks a bit upset, but that's understandable given that you nearly gave her another reason to cry little under an hour ago, but she manages to give you a weak smile "I- I'll just go and clean myself up, then, and then we can go, o… Okay?" you realise that you never bothered to get a wash when you woke up, but you'll get a chance to wash when she's done.

A full half hour later, and the two of you were clean. The effect was more noticeable on her, however, as her eyes are no longer so puffy and red, her face scrubbed clean of tear stains from before breakfast, and her hair's been restored to it's familiar drill bit pigtails. For the most part, all you did was get a wash – you could just as easily finish up cleaning yourself at home, and your hair was kept short due to the nature of what you did most of the day

"Are you ready?" you ask, before you find yourself on the receiving end of a determined look from Anzio's Sensha-do team leader

"Yes." She answers, that familiar tone of a born leader returning to her "You'll come stay again, won't you?" her voice falters again, just barely, but you know that it did, and you give a smile and a wink as you hold open the door for her

"I said I'd always be there for you, didn't I?" and with that you follow her out the door.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Author's Notice:<span>**Hello, and welcome to Jeder und Panzer - yes, that is indeed 'Everyone and Armour'. You see, one day I was wandering through the archives on this site, and then I stumbled on the various 'Boys in tankery' stories located here. Having a minor knowledge in tanks myself, which is admittedly helped by various WW2 related games and the like, I thought 'sure, may as well get in on the fun', and so I did. This will be a series of stories loosely connected to one another for the most part, and then move on to the series plot proper.

The twist to this story, is of course the fact that the reader is the main character.

Some main characters will have distinguishing features that I will explain in my own way, in my own time. For the most part though, I want the reviewers to tell me what school I should locate my next chapter, and what personality I should give to the character. I'll pick and choose the tanks myself, and some character names will be already chosen - like the chapter quote character up there, who was created by my brother for a laugh.

So yes, I hope you enjoy, and please, share your ideas.

I'll look at the reviews at the end of the two weeks after each chapter goes up, and go with whichever idea seems most frequent. Don't expect frequent updates, however, it takes me forever to reach an ideal manner of writing.


	2. Black Jack

**Jeder Und Panzer**

**Black Jack**

"_**The best way to live your life is to be spontaneous. Take it slow, life come to you – and then when its close, you kick its shins so it can't run away from you. That's the way our Commander rolls!" –James Doakes, gunner**_

You often told yourself to keep Tankery separate from everything else, something you've done almost religiously since day one. To be fair, it wasn't your tank – you may have been the commander of said tank, but that changed nothing as it belonged to a private collection who owner happened to know your father due to some bet or other. Originally, the owner had wanted to get into Tankery himself, but found he lacked the attributes to amount to anything close to decent, so he instead funded your makeshift team. Makeshift in that, two years ago, when you were fourteen, you barely knew them, although you knew how to tank. Back then, you had rolled around in the ever faithful M4 Sherman.

Eventually, after winning a few local tournaments that lead to most of the prize money being banked or used to fix and supply the tank, he'd retired the Sherman, letting it sit proudly at the forefront of that small collection, housed in a hangar. Five tanks, with that Sherman sitting in the middle, and you moved on to the next tank. This tank, you went to the tournaments in an Easy-Eight, acquired due to banked funding. After the acquisition of the better tank, however, your record began to become scratchy, with various holes beginning to appear in your resume. It all came to a head, though, with the first international tournament you attended last year, in Britain. At first, it had gone so very well, with you getting to the semi-finals, your tank having managed to survive an onslaught of European, and the occasional Russian, tanks. _That_ was when it all fell apart.

Somehow, that Brit had managed to acquire a very rare tank as a tournament prize. A Matilda with some extra features. While it didn't feature a Littlejohn Adaptor, thankfully, it instead featured an A27 turret and a 6-pounder main gun. It wasn't until after you'd lost to that smug viper that you learned it was a 6-pounder, and by that time he'd already whipped your ass so hard it stung for the rest of the year. You'd gone in hard and fast, and while you outclassed him speed-wise, his gun hurt, and it dinged your armour very badly. Enough that when you'd lost, the tank was a wreck. They _hadn't_ been messing around when it came to eliminating the competition. It was fast and thorough, and what happened at the finals hadn't surprised you at all, considering what you had seen advancing up the rankings throughout the tournament.

The official tournament ranked the Matilda as a rank five, given its armament, just as they'd considered your tank a rank six. The tank they'd gone up against in the finals was classified as a rank _eight_. You later learned that the Brit in charge of that Matilda, or Matilda _Black Prince_, apparently, had been hospitalised in the process of getting his team out a bad situation where their tank had been set alight. You hadn't heard from him since, so he had probably left Tankery for good. Right now, though, none of that mattered, that was all hype to get past the jitters you're feeling.

To clarify, you don't understand it.

How can dealing with a tank be easier than dealing with a _girl_, of all things?

"You must be Kay, right?" you ask, managing to calm your quaking nerves enough to speak. The second your sponsor, the same collector who had gotten you into the whole Tankery thing in the first place, had sold your services to one of Japan's most prestigious Tankery – or as the locals seemed to call it, _Sensha-dou_, which had a nice ring to it – school_ships_ in order to bolster their already impressive roster. With the funding received you'd upgraded from the E8, and under the collector's careful guidance, were now in possession of a modified M26, custom made by the best sport tank producers. Indeed, with the 90mm main gun and a Ford GAF engine nestled away under some mightily impressive armour, you could easily take whatever was to be thrown at you "I'm John. John Smith, the tanker your school hired?" the girl nods and smiles before extending a hand

"Yep, that's me! Kay Nakamura." She introduces herself, and now with a name to an admittedly pretty face you find yourself less nervous. Kay looks over your shoulder, apparently she was expecting more people to have come with you "The captain asked me to show you around the school, but I can't really do that when your crew are missing, now can I?" given the tone you can tell it's not meant in any condescending way, and you go along with it and chuckle, before shrugging

"They went to go see if they can find the mess hall." You reply, hoping that it would suffice for an answer. Evidently it does, as at the mention of something food related, you note that Kay's eyes have apparently glazed over slightly "Kay? Kay, are you alright?" you ask, waving a hand in front of her face and clicking your fingers, which snaps her out of this state, and she chuckles, not a nervous sort of chuckle like the ones you were used to giving around unknown members of the opposite gender, but rather a chuckle that says 'I'm confident, and in charge of this situation'

"Whoops, sorry about that." Kay apologises, that same grin now showing a few teeth on the right side. It was at least better than looking far enough down that you'd be looking at her admittedly impressive bosom – judging by the fact that your new contract holder said that your guide _would_ be a freshman, this can't put her down to anything more than fifteen, sixteen at most – but it's not good that you're not looking her in the eyes "I was in too much of a rush getting ready for the tour that I forgot to grab breakfast, and it's almost lunch!" you manage to look her in the eyes once again, and this time your gaze keeps a firm grasp of where you're supposed to be looking, rather than erratically looking over your newly acquired companion

"Then we'll just go on the school tour thing _after_ grabbing something to eat, then!" you declare, your voice barely raised above its usual pitch. You were getting more confident – she talked to you like a person, after all, rather than a tanker, which was an improvement, at least – as Kay nods happily, and promptly leaving you in her wake as she hurries towards one of the many off-shooting corridors that cut away from the main foyer, though you picked up the pace, too "Must be mighty hungry if you're heading off at that speed, Miss Kay." You get a hearty laugh as a reward for the remark

"Not really, I'm just feeling peckish." You're surprised at that, as if this was peckish you'd dread seeing how fast she'd move if she was starving "You're Japanese is good, by the way. How long did you spend learning?" you weren't expecting the compliment, and as a result you fell back into that nervous state, though Kay doesn't seem to notice, instead focussing on going as fast as possible towards the cafeteria without breaking school rules – this means she is somehow going fast enough to make you sprint after her just to keep up, without being chastised for it

"I- I had half a year," you manage to stammer out – a feat not helped in the slightest by the fact that you were beginning to pant. You were the commander of a tank, not the loader, and as a result you did less physically exerting things. Johnny could run for quite literally _hours_, being a former member of the track team, and put that to use with his role in the tank – it had shaved at least half a second off last time any of you had bothered to check "It's nothing compared to our comms, though." You tell her, growing confident once more now that you had wrapped your head around receiving a compliment from a stranger. It was at this moment that you hear them – your crew.

The synchronised voices with drastically varying pitches was a very easy giveaway.

This serves to excite your would-be guide all the more, and she opens the cafeteria doors to an unusual sight

"_- The only girl for me!_**"** The other four members of your team are stood on one of the long tables. They're clad in their usual tanking gear, and you know for a fact that Johnny should never start singing before Marie. That's usually the warning for a fight, not that you mind, as it allows you to assert your dominance over the team by virtue of being the strongest on the team. You know that's a lie, however, as Sarah is actually the most capable brawler on the team, though she enjoys letting you think you're the dominant party member. The gathered audience, made up of most of the student body, turn to look at you as the doors reach the end of their hinges

"Is that your team?" Kay asks, despite the answer being _very_ clear. Almost embarrassingly so, in fact. Johnny - the strong loader, who couldn't punch fast enough to hit a very large snail, with his distinctive grin and scraggly attempt at facial hair – had his arms around Marie, the Comms, and Sarah, the driver. Marie, in turn, had her arm around James, the gunner. Literally covered in oil stains and grease marks, many of which had been on their slacks long enough to have basically become permanent additions to the outfit – not that you could brag that your gear was clandestine, but it was at least less dirty due to the fact that all you had to do was sit in the cupola, with most of the time there spent with your upper half poking out. You nod, grimly staring each and every one of them down "_They sing nicely_." Her English is far from perfect, but it's surprising to hear fluent English when you expected them to know a few key words and the like

"_Don't compliment them, ma'am._**"** You tell her, slipping into English, not removing your gaze from the four idiots stood on the tables **"**_You'll only encourage them for an encore._**"** The four of them begin to chuckle, completely aware of the fact that you're testing your new employer's ability to speak your native language. She seems to recognise the challenge, too, as her eyes narrow slightly. You know now that the game is truly afoot, and that the student body seems to recognise at least a few of the words the two of you are using, as the group closest to you are now watching **"**_I'd like you to meet Johnny Olson, Marie Cassidy, Sarah Louise, and James Doakes. Loader, Communications, Driver, and Gunner, respectively._**"** Kay seems appeased with this, and nods accordingly

"_Then you must be the Commander, yes?_**"** she asks, once again already knowing the answer. You, in turn, nod, and she very eagerly claps her hands, quickly and effectively garnering the attention of the entire cafeteria. Two more girls emerge from the crowd, one tall and skinny, the other shorter and a tad more plump. The lanky one eyes your crew wearily, and Johnny winks at her, receiving a roll of the eyes as a reward for that attempt. The two promptly take up places just behind Kay's shoulders, and so you guess they must be her lackeys, for lack of a better term just yet "Alright girls, this here are our newest Sensha-dou crew! They're here to help train the new recruits in time for the nationals!" there's a mixed reaction to this. Mostly because you know for a fact that the nationals had finished just under a week ago, with a victory from the school calling itself Kuromorimine, continuing an apparently long running winning streak. It also served as several things, one was that the oldest daughter of the headmistress had been made into the leader of their Sensha-dou team, and revealing to you that said daughter's mother happened to be the creator of the current trend in the sport, and arguably one of the most powerful people around when it came to that particular matter.

The girl would evidently be a problem

"Now then, if you'd like to get off of the table so you can let our gracious hosts get back to eating, I'm certain we can all have a lovely talk about what needs to be done around here." Your team grumble slightly, but they comply and remove themselves from the tabletop, stepping through a gap in the students, which is filled in the second they finish by whichever student vacated it. The impromptu audience watches the lot of you, before Kay motions to a smaller table near the windows, vacant since you entered, so the previous diners probably vacated it before your team tried to be a barber shop quartet. It's a tight fit once you do navigate your way through the crowd shuffling back towards their tables, with only four chairs to eight people, leading to your crew simply remaining standing "So, what's the standard formation, composition, and training regime for your crews?"

"We normally stick to using a left-hand echelon, with the flag tank – usually the team captain's – in the centre. Fourteen M4 Sherman light tanks, supported by a M4A4 Firefly. We mostly stick to light and medium tanks." You nod at the answers given. The M4 was an admirable tank, one of the most famous in history, in fact, much as your time in one would prove. The echelon was an easy formation to conjure up, what with it being a simple line at an angle – maintaining it, however, was harder than you'd think, having to maintain the same speed when it was easy to go a good bit faster than needed "It's not that we don't _have_ heavy tanks, it's just that we don't have _enough_ to make effective use of them, so we often just leave them in hangar." A damn shame, in your opinion. Heavy tanks packed the heavier punches in most teams, and could take a good hiding. Of course, that wasn't the case with most American heavy tanks, but they were speedier

"I see." You state, before Kay excuses herself briefly, returning with a stack of food, completely catching you off guard while leaving her two companions unfazed. Indeed, even the rest of your crew look beguiled at such a large amount of the stuff she fetches back with her, and are even more surprised at the rate she packs it away. She doesn't take note of the fact everyone that wasn't her two companions, who have remained silent thus far. With that in mind, you turn to her lankier compatriot, mostly because the shorter one is currently being flattered into silence by your ever vexing loader "Does she always have this much food?" the lanky one, who was until that moment looking out of the window and blowing bubble gum, turns to regard you with cold eyes. They'd be put to good use if she was a gunner, or a member of some form of archery club

"This?" she queries, pointing to Kay, who was happily eating with her eyes closed, and yet never misses her mouth "No, this is a light snack compared to what she usually has."

Your crew's jaws collectively drop.

* * *

><p>Roughly two hours later saw you situated inside the Student Council room, you and your team sitting at one side of a desk while on the other side two tall girls flanked a revolving chair that was looking out towards the window. A minute passes in tense silence before its occupant turns it around, revealing… a girl who looks a lot more Asian than most of the people you've encountered so far here. You don't mean anything rude by that, it's just that the people you met during the tour – of which there were three; those of course being Kay, Naomi, and Alisa – and a good few bunches of people you saw had all looked at least ambiguously western in terms of descent<p>

"The name is Akemi Fujimoto." She tells you bluntly, leaning forwards and steepling her hands, elbows resting on the desk "My team doesn't need assistance – we have a _long_ history in Sensha-dou. What we _need_, however, are _more guns_. Your tank is remarkably strong – I believe the tank duelling circuit classifies your tank as a rank eight? – and just about all that we use are the M4 and its variants. A medium tank is good, but when your enemy can both outrun you and hit harder, then it just isn't enough. We need a big gun, and lots of them. We have two M26s sitting in the hangar under tarp, waiting for the parts needed to fix them up to come in. Once those parts arrive at the start of the next month, we can begin training properly. Are there any questions?"

"Not that it pertains to Tankery, but where will my crew and I be staying?" you ask, genuinely curious. Akemi smiles lightly, and you realise that your ability to read people was worse than ever "It's just that we were never informed before we took the job, and I doubt miss Kay would know such a thing."

"There are a few flats still available in the block on the 72nd street. Not too far away from the school, of course, as it's the freshman residence if they don't have family here." She explains "Fifteen minutes out at best, just continue straight ahead once you go out the gates and you can't miss it, on your right. When you're ready to go, just tell Ami down by the entrance desk that Akemi's given you flats 43, 44, and 45 – anything else?" you ponder for a moment before asking

"Can you tell us anything about the other schools?"

"Sure. Kay and Tanaka have more knowledge on the whole thing, but I'll tell you what I can while classes are still going on." She replies, reaching out to her right, where her… aide? Hands her a folder marked with a stamp shaped rather like a tank. Fitting, you think "Saunders loves good food and medium tanks, especially if they're based off of the Sherman chassis. We also have a best barbeque competition every few months. St. Gloriana loves tea and all things British, and all the values of the former Empire – their forces usually consist of Matildas and Churchills." she leafs through the papers pulled from the folder "Maginot loves art and their tanks are very… bouncy, at a distance. A big enough gun can and _will_ put a hole in them.

"Anzio is a _very_ unusual lot when it comes to their schooling. They pride themselves on their elaborate cooking, rather than prioritising Sensha-dou. As a result, they mostly have tankettes, and last I checked, a Fiat Ansaldo. They tend not to get far, at all and they went out in the first round when St. Gloriana went up against them. Pravda loves heavy tanks, and our guns tend to have trouble penetrating the slabs of metal that they call 'armour', they have some sort of system designed around something called 'Rubles'. The last one I can really tell you about is Kuromorimine.

"They've won the tournament for the past eight years. They love heavy armour and keeping things orderly – that's how we tried to fight them, scattering them. You can guess how well that went when they had a Tiger II and a Ferdinand in the front row. Just to boast, they even had their flag tank be a _StuG_!" that must have been a painful loss, then "They've all been hiring new tanks, just like yours, to fill up their ranks. The only new tank I've seen on the battlefield, though, was Kuromorimine's. They refused to say what it is, who crews it, and the crew themselves refused to show up when they won. All we know is that it's got a very good gunner, as they could fire from so far off we couldn't see them until we were being hit."

This is very bad.

You can feel it in your bones

"Who lead Kuromorimine in the finals, then?"

"Maho Nishizumi. Nepotism at its finest, in my opinion." She seems perfectly fine with just holding this conversation, but now she's looking at the clock "Shiho Nishizumi has dominated the Sensha-dou Committee for years. Her style of Tankery has been the go to thing since she lead her school to victory about twenty years back. You _do_ know about the Schoolships, right?" you nod, and she sighs in relief "Good. School's almost out, and since you're teamed up with the current batch of freshmen, you'll be able to head over there with your new friends." For the first time since you entered the office Akemi smiles, even though it's a small one

"Thank you for your time, ma'am." You tell her as you head to the door. You _do_ have to check out your new home, after all.

* * *

><p>"So you're on our floor?" Kay asks, as you adjust the duffel bag on your back and tighten your grip on the cardboard box in your hands. In your right jacket pocket is the key to flat 44, and everything else you have are key possessions – the non-essentials are in storage at home, your family probably preparing to fetch a few things when they find the time for a holiday "So, how was Akemi?"<p>

"Yes, and she was nice enough." You opt to answer the two questions in one go, instead choosing to focus on your surroundings. Crossing roads while being distracted was just plain stupid, after all "She said that you could help me and my team in terms of tanks." Kay nods, a grin cropping up onto her face as your group halts once again at the edge of a road, waiting patiently for the signal to go. One which appeared not ten seconds later, and as you cross you take note of how tall the apartment block is. People had called you remarkably tall for your age, standing at six foot two.

Not that you really understood that part, all of your crew were of the same age – seventeen – and they stood at similar heights

"Well, we can always start on the other schools team composition tomorrow – I'm not needed on Saturday until the afternoon." She informs you, and you nod in appreciation "That reminds me – since training's tomorrow afternoon, Nagamasa will want to meet you. Aoi's our team leader, so she'll want an update on the team roster as soon as." She notices the questioning look on your face "She was ill today. Nasty cold, and she didn't want anyone else to have it."

"I see." You note. There were ten flats to a floor in the building, and your was on the fourth. Getting there would be easy – especially for the more physically inclined members of your crew "Tomorrow would be fine for us. Isn't that right?" you ask the group, who all mumble out affirmatives, faces obscured by their own luggage. Kay takes this response positively, and gives you all a smile.

Your newfound ability to talk to girls slips away again as you arrive, and begin your ascent

"Great!" Kay states, as you continue up another flight of stairs, thankfully the stairs were on both sides of the building, enabling easy climbing. It isn't long before you arrive "Mine flat's number 50, over on the other end of the row." And with that she leaves you to unpack.

Friendly girl, isn't she?

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notice:<strong>

**Yes, this is a tribute to BlackJack's GuPQ. As such, the tank is indeed a SuperPershing, as was alluded to.**

First of all, I wish to apologise for my tardiness. I have had many problems, some of which pertain to writing. One such problem being that I can't write Kay, not without making her into a caricature of the actual character. I also wish to apologise for not including enough of her in the chapter.

Another note is that I have established a time line. This will be set one year before the events of _Little Army_. In other words, the Third Years of the anime are at present first years. This means of course, that Miho has not yet deigned to continue her secondary education. If you do not know what I'm on about, here's another reason I was taking so long.

Research.

I intend to shape this universe to fit my style. That style being that you, the readers/voters choose who I write about. While doing this, I researched Japanese education ages. Their secondary education ends at fifteen. Many of them choose to extend this period of their life to age eighteen due to peer pressure, among other things. Miho, being a second year in the anime, would be around seventeen. Maho, as a third year, and an outgoing student, would be eighteen.

One final note I'd like to add, is that I'm moving onto a specially requested chapter. This chapter will feature... Darjeeling.

This loosely defined timeline will last until all anime third years have a chapter.

They are:

Anzu, Assam, Alisa, Erika, Maho, Orange Pekoe, Momo, Yuzu(mi), Katyusha, Nonna, Naomi.

I'll end it here, so until Next time.


	3. Aquitaine

**J****eder und Panzer**

**Aquitaine**

"_All I do is load the gun, marm. I'm nothing special." – Daveth Teague, loader_

"I wear this sash for a reason, marm." You state, tapping the middle and index fingers of your right hand against the aforementioned sash-like eye patch. It covers the upper half of the right side of your face, covering the eye. Your companion looks at you questioningly, before daintily lifting the fine china to her lips "A few years ago my team and I were over-confident. We made mistakes, just as we all do, but by far our biggest one was making it to the finals of a tournament last year. Our Matilda was a fine tank, and the fact it had a 6-pounder gun was only the icing on the cake. It all went downhill, though, when we managed to beat a SuperPershing.

"The tank we met in the finals was a monster. A truly magnificent piece of German engineering. We were out in three shots, and when the fourth hit us the tank caught fire." Darjeeling's eyes widen slightly as she sets the cup and saucer on the table "Young Daveth was still in the tank, and when I managed to get him out of the tank some of the flames… well, you get the idea." Once again you tap against the bottom of the sash, a small, sad smile on your face "We couldn't afford the whole surgery, so most of what we got was some therapy. I considered leaving the sport, but… well, I couldn't. I just couldn't find it in myself to abandon them."

"Does it still hurt?" Darjeeling inquires. There was indeed a reason you chose to accept her invitation to have a drink at her flat, rather than the more crowded floor below where you and your team reside "Your patch must chafe against the burns, surely." You suppose it _did_ rub against the remains of the burn scars, sometimes, but mostly it provided a nice cooling contrast. As she asks the question, you're sipping from the cup, and she is by far one of the most patient people you've met during the six months you spent on the vessel, and you're glad you have the privilege to call her a friend

"Occasionally, when I'm having a bad day." You state, looking out of the window and at the large town that was St. Gloriana – it was a nice enough place, but you're slightly sad that they based it mostly off of London, of all places. Sure, aesthetically it made sense, but that's all Britain wanted to show the world, a single city that everyone complains about "Such as when it's raining heavily, or when it's too hot outside that it makes the material so warm it's uncomfortable. Is it alright if I change the subject? This one is a bit too… personal for me."

"Of course," Darjeeling tells you, a slightly pitying look in her eyes. Or is it consolation? The two are so similar to you that you cannot tell the difference. She once again lifts both cup and saucer, this time resting the latter, still in her grip, on her right knee, which is crossed over the left, and before taking another sip she asks "Is there something else you wished to talk about? I remember that you said you wished to continue our discussion from the last time we had the pleasure of a private conversation." You shrug slightly as you take another drink. It had become a sort of bi-weekly tradition over the tenure of your stay to have a talk with Darjeeling for an hour or two, usually over what ever came to mind at the time

"Certainly." she nods, unable to speak due to the last of her drink at present being in her mouth "Has any of the other schools revealed what tanks they've purchased for next year?" you knew your place on this ship – a glorified advertisement that male tankers were indeed a thing overseas, and would be a thing in male-only schools as of next year, in an attempt to further boost the sport's ratings. Apparently, Kuromorimine, the schools specialising in German armour and the current champions in the regionals, had also been forced to acquire one such tank. Which had been put to use with disastrous effect against Saunders. That tank, though, caused you to shiver when you saw it on the screen.

It was _that_ tank.

It had no fanfare, and despite all tanks having to have female crews – the gaijin ones would be able to take part in next year's tournaments, when the new ruling came into effect – its crew never showed themselves after the battle had been won, in remarkably short order. You despised that tank, and yet you found yourself holding the crew in immense regard, despite what they did to you.

In response to your question, Darjeeling shakes her head

"No," she tells you, setting cup and saucer on the table once again, though you doubted that they'd be picked up until you'd left "And even if they did, it isn't my place to say. Such matters are kept at the discretion of the team captain and student council, to be disclosed with the rest of the team at a time befitting such matters."

"Hm… Oh well, can't win every time, can we?" you say, more to yourself than to Darjeeling – you, of course, knew her real name, and why she preferred to be known as a brand of tea. You, considering yourself a person of morals and the like, would never do anything to disrespect a lady's wishes – though she nods regardless. Her eyes are still closed, but it's warm both inside and out due to it being the start of autumn, makes sense that people would be half asleep "Sometimes, I really can't understand the politics in sports."

"They can be obstructive most of the time, but they keep it clean," Darjeeling tells you, opening her eyes again and getting to her feet "So that it doesn't interfere with the contestants. It's why the world has politicians, as useless as they may seem, they are the ones who keep the world's politics from interfering with the lives of the common person, such as you and I." Makes sense, you suppose. Tankery as a whole took a very bad, very rapid beating when the recession hit, with prices for parts skyrocketing and some companies refusing to manufacture at all – that was strange, in and of itself, but you just chalked it down to the sheer cost of manufacturing a tank in the first place – even as their competitors were threatened with administration and closure "It's still warm outside, would you mind if we continue our discussion on the balcony?" you smile slightly

"Certainly, if that's what you want to do." You tell her, and you push yourself out of the seat before draining the last of your beverage and setting it back on the tabletop. Your coat is soon removed from the back of your seat and folded over your arm before you join Darjeeling at the door. You place your coat covered right arm in front of the door "Ladies first." You tell her, giving a small grin. Darjeeling returns the smile and steps out of the door, letting you close it. There's no need to lock it – the balcony in question is literally all of five steps away

"While we don't know what tank they have, I heard from a friend of mine that Saunders is starting training on their heavier tanks." Darjeeling informs you, her hands on the railing as she leans forwards and looks out across the small city that covers a good portion of the _St. Gloriana_'s top deck. In turn, you lean back against the railing "They've had those two Pershings in the hangar for _years_ – they just aren't good with them, so they've been kept in storage." Your right eyebrow raises of its own accord, as it is wont to do when your curiosity is piqued

"Oh?"

"Yes, I suppose 'oh' would be a good thing to say in the face of such idiocy. They are a peculiar bunch, though their food-" She continues, before pausing and squinting down onto the street four floors below, she leaned further over and waved "Ami and Mai are here. Hello!" Assam and Orange Pekoe, respectively. They were friendly people, sure enough, but Assam had a downright _nasty_ habit of making terrible jokes. She was also one of the best shots the team had ever seen. Orange Pekoe was small, but she had almost crushed your hand the first time you met her – and that was _before_ she became a loader

"M26s, you say?" you ask, hurriedly taking her away from the reverie she was sinking in and back on track "Why would they keep that many and not use a single one?" you, of course, had your own reasons to ponder why they were fetching such powerful tanks out of the shadows. They evidently wanted to avoid a repeat of their disastrous finals where Kuromorimine's mystery monster made mincemeat of their M4s. Mind you, a rank 8 often had that effect of a rank 4. Darjeeling looks at you as Assam and Orange Pekoe wave back up at her and pick up their pace

"I don't really know why, but chances are that their new tank is a M26, too." She stops talking there, before turning around and leaning against the railing, the index and thumb of her left hand cupping her chin, the corresponding elbow resting on her right hand. A classical thinking pose if you ever you saw one "After all, they never really were any good with the Pershing tank. The only time they were really put to use outside of being a collector's piece was twenty years back. That was before some of the schoolships were built. Oarai took out both of the ones that Saunders fetched out in the finals." Of course, Oarai stopped being popular after that, as Kuromorimine and Maginot, not to mention Anzio, were fetched out of the shipyards and launched

"Our six pounder never stood a chance against that monster. We scored two hits, and then we were set alight." You tell her "It looks like they're pulling out all the stops in order to counter Kuromorimine. I have doubts that even _Aquitaine_'s main gun could do much to harm it." _Aquitaine_ was what the crew had painted on the glacis of the Churchill tank you had acquired to replace _Horace_, the old Matilda Black Prince that had served you so faithfully. Now it sat at Bovington, the haven of tanks the world over and the tanker's paradise.

_Aquitaine _was a Black Prince, equipped with a powerful Meteor engine.

At that moment, your own reverie was destroyed

"Good afternoon, Darjeeling." The two chorus, before Assam looks to you "Good afternoon to you too, Edward." The taller of the two greets. Orange Pekoe, who you know only really speaks to Darjeeling and whoever she's occasionally on the phone to every so often, merely nods in greeting

"Good afternoon to you too, miss Ami, miss Mai." You greet in turn, maintaining proper etiquette while still preventing Darjeeling from going on another tangent. The schoolships that used themed teams, such as Anzio and Maginot, modelled themselves on stereotypes. St. Gloriana's was the British upper class, and when speaking used the Japanese equivalent to the Received Pronunciation, _Keigo_, which was generally used by shop clerks or kept to formal and ceremonial occasions "We were just discussing why Saunders were fetching out three M26 Pershings."

"Oh? We heard that Anzio was trying to land-lease a few of Kuromorimine's tanks for next year." Assam says with a shrug, while Orange Pekoe slowly backs away as your frequent tea-and-talk companion advances upon her position. This was a frequent occurrence, and occasionally pondered over whether or not Darjeeling was… what was the word? Oh, right, _Yandere_. She focussed solely upon the rather short miss Mai, after all, and it did occasionally become a frightening experience "Did you know that Anchovy has a _boyfriend_ now, E- Darjeeling?" the near usage of her name is enough to give Darjeeling pause, the news about Anzio's impromptu leader even moreso

"Anchovy? Of all people?" Darjeeling muses, as Orange Pekoe takes precautionary measures and continues to back away "I feel sorry for the boy." Anchovy was, according to your acquaintances in school, an oddity among the Sensha-dou community. Despite being a first year, she was a team leader. This was achieved due to the sheer charisma she exuded. The downside was, humorously, that Anzio's tanks were in fact mostly tank_ettes_ – lightly armed things that could historically be dealt with by throwing a grenade near them. Were they to acquire some of Kuromorimine's tanks, their forces would be significantly bolstered

"You mentioned that Anzio were trying to acquire tanks, miss Ami?" you ask, disrupting the current trend of conversation and setting it back on the original course. It wasn't that you disliked all this talk of relationships and the like, but you'd much prefer if that was kept away at the moment. In response to your question Assam nods, while Darjeeling notices that Orange Pekoe has moved away from her and begins advancing on the poor mite once again "Darjeeling, could you please leave miss Mai alone for the moment? I'm certain she appreciates the affection but we need your input as a commander at present." You receive a glare from the blonde haired girl – you know for a fact that it is dyed, having seen the box containing the bottles once or twice. Helped present the European air that they strived for, after all – as she returns to leaning against the railing

"I doubt Kuromorimine will let them have access to their tanks – Shiho Nishizumi, and in turn Maho, do not look favourably upon lending others their strength. You either succeed and progress forwards on the path you've chosen, or you fail and are left behind. _That_ is the result of following the Nishizumi way." Darjeeling explains, her voice suddenly sombre, the transition only mildly jarring for you – you've experience this in previous conversations. after all "Anzio are, in their view, a weak school who cannot afford tanks of their own, and as such they feel no incentive to assist them, and even if they did, Shiho or Maho would simply say no. It isn't in the interest of their Tankery style."

You suppose that that made sense.

At that moment, Assam's phone buzzes and let loose a harp-like tone as she receives a text

"Sounds like fun." You say airily, prompting a slight smile from Darjeeling and Orange Pekoe. Assam, meanwhile, is focussed on her texting, though you of course won't pry. It would be rude, and besides, you're certain she keeps a Taser on her person at all times – worried parents, typical. Assam then looks up, quickly closing her phone with a click as she hurries towards the stairs

"I've got to go." She tells you all hurriedly "Are you coming, Mai?" Orange Pekoe nods and waves at you and Darjeeling, who tries to give her a hug but is too slow as the smaller girl quickly dodges out of range "I'll see you at school tomorrow then?" Darjeeling nods. You, of course, cannot partake in the school traditionally – that would violate the part where it says '_Women's_ Academy' – but you are a frequent fixture there nonetheless, usually as a helping hand for Sensha-dou. As were your team, who often ran little 'tests' to keep people up to date on their role in the tanks.

Darjeeling sighs as she watches her friends head downstairs, and watches from the railing as they walk away

"Miss Darjeeling? Are you alright?" you ask, taking a step closer to her and placing a hand on her shoulder. As a friend, it's your obligation to make certain that she's alright "You seem upset over something. Do you want to talk about it?" you hear a small laugh at that, and Darjeeling gives you a small smile

"No, there's nothing I want to talk about." She tells you "Thank you for the concern, though." She certainly doesn't look alright. The moment that Ami and Mai left she turned pale, her lips trembled and her eyes watered. You knew that Darjeeling was a person that loved to be in company, and she thrived when it came to things like 'social gatherings' – which boiled down to tea parties with occasional karaoke - and had been tasked with making the preparation for the annual _Utage_ – an honour among the student body, apparently, as it was the big even of the school year, a large party with lots of food. It was basically the equivalent to the prom, complete with _Utage Joō_, which you assumed to mean party queen – alongside Ami and Mai. Of the two, only the latter really provided help, with Ami frequently disappearing somewhere.

Usually, your loader was missing at those moments, too.

A light cough catches your attention, and snaps you back to reality

"Is there something on my face, Edward?" Darjeeling asks, her voice unfalteringly polite. You don't answer, instead looking away hastily, and she chuckles an elegant chuckle at your expense "It's starting to get rather chilly, wouldn't you say?" you don't respond for a few moments, and then you nod. You have other things to focus on, after all, and you have suspicions about you wayward loader "Would you like to come back inside for another cup of tea? There's always more than enough to go around, after all."

"… yes, please." You say, managing to stay in reality long enough to reign in the blush on your cheeks as you answer. Darjeeling closes her eyes and hums softly to herself, likely some form of affirmative sound, seeing as your right ear isn't really up to snuff anymore, nor is it exactly a pretty sight anymore underneath the sash "Oh, and Darjeeling?" you ask, hurriedly turning around as she opens the door. She turns to look at you, regarding you through those dazzling sapphire eyes.

Wait,_ what_

"yes?" she asks, sounding honest-to-whatever god there is out there curious. Her face, while seemingly impassive, has those minute quirks you've come to associate with your friend over the past six months since you met her. For example, she never notices that her left eyebrow rises when she's curious over something, for some reason she's only aware of eyebrow quirking when it's her right one that doing it. Her noses also twitches, though she appears to be aware of this, as she has often asked either you or her two most frequent accomplices if her nose twitched again "Is there something you wanted to say, Edward?"

"I was… I was just wondering what…. You were doing next Thursday…?" you sound far more hesitant than you feel. Darjeeling, to her credit, does not blush much at the question. Her cheeks are tinged slightly pink, and a glimmer appears in her eyes – you feel a pang of childish jealousy that you can only see from one side, even though you had accepted the fact you'd never see out of that eye again long ago. For a few seconds, the two of you stand there in an uncomfortable silence, before Darjeeling chuckles and motions for you to follow her

"Oh? I've got nothing planned then, you should already know that." She tells you, reminding you that Thursday was indeed the usual day for your discussions "But I'm certain that we can have our discussion somewhere else that day." Your heart soars and it feels as though you can't breathe briefly, before once again she motions for you to follow her inside, which you do.

Perhaps there was a reward for the long path you walked, after all.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notice:<strong>

**If you can't guess the historical reference even after I've spelt it out in bold letters, I'll think of some creative punishment or other.**

I promised a fellow writer - though he has yet to finis up his first chapter, which I have high hopes for as it's beta-reader - that I would do a Darjeeling chapter for him. I also said I'd do a Nonna chapter, though eventually another writer - Big Z1776 - wrote it after we had a brief talk over the matter. That will be uploaded in the coming days, after I fix the usual problems I have with DocX. So yes, big thanks to Big Z1776, and I wish him the best of luck with his own fics.

I remember saying that I wouldn't let quotes characters have a chapter, but you can see where that went. Edward Prydwen - probably the most distinctive name you'll see among this cast, visually and verbally, that you'll see here - was the British commander referenced in Chapter 2 and provides us with our first quote. Likewise, John Smith was mentioned here, and so was our nameless hero over in Anzio.

Also, to the reviewer who guessed what Kuromorimine has, I'll reveal it here.

It was _always_ going to be the Lowe. Some of you who play World of Tanks, may seem perplexed as to why that shite tier 8 premium looks so OP here.

That's because, simply put, people who never got to tier _5_ want to play with the big boys. They see the Lowe, and think it's a damn cool tank. They don't understand how the Lowe works. The Lowe is my best tank, when angled and in hull down positions it's deadly. It's gun shoots further than most tanks _detection range_ without losing any stopping power. Simply put - that shite tier 8 premium heavy tank, is meant to be played as a tank destroyer, and for that reason it is my best tank.

Next chapter's character is expected to be chosen by next Thursday, as that's probably when I'll get through all these summer history project hand-ins I'm meant to mark. So with that, I'll bid you _adieu_.


	4. Big Z1776 presents - Snow Drift

**Jeder und Panzer**

_**Guest Chapter!**_** IV – Snow Drift**

"_**We are born of the cold, and yet our heart knows only warmth. That is the paradox of life." – Kliment Degtyarev**_

You never saw this blizzard coming, one minute you were on your way to see your best friend aboard Pravda's academy ship, the next you're looking out into a wall of falling snow going at least fifty knots. You can hardly see the lights of the strip mall directly across the street. There are no cars going around, and the buses aren't running, which means you're stuck right where you are with nowhere to go.

That's where you see her, a tall brown haired girl dressed in the school uniform of the girls' high school with a thick wool overcoat on with specks of snow melting away into small droplets. She has a fur cap on as well and she takes it off, letting her long brunette hair spill down over her shoulders and absent-mindedly strokes it down. The first thing you truthfully notice is her regal beauty, she holds herself with a stoic grace befitting a Czarina, and she certainly would looks great in that attire. But you see where this train of thought may lead and you immediately stop your mind in its tracks. But the hot rush of blood into your cheeks causes you to look away, as you usually did whenever an attractive girl of your own age was around.

You see her walk up to the flight list on the wall and stop. She is looking at the digital screen showing the list of flights and arrival times on it. In front of every one of them is the word "Delayed" and she seems quite irritated by that word.

She must be waiting for someone as well, you immediately think to yourself, if only my own friend did that.

You leave the thought alone as you feel a slight disturbance in your belly. You hadn't eaten at all on the long flight from home, airline food is way too expensive. But you see an open coffee shop off to your right which is mostly full of girls of mostly the same age as the tall brunette you'd noticed earlier. Many have their bags with them, fresh from off of a plane ride to start school in a few weeks. So you carefully navigate your way to the counter and order a hot chocolate and a few slices of freshly baked black bread, which is a real specialty on Pravda's ship.

There are looks from the girls around you accompanied by a few giggles that are quite obviously directed at you make you a bit uneasy. It was the first time you'd seen such a lopsided male-to-female ratio in your own favour. After all, this was the girls high school branch of your own school, Pravda Boys High School, so you might be the first boy of their age they'd seen in quite a while. But you'd always been shy around girls, and being in the presence of so many girls forces you, subconsciously, to take the only available booth built right next to the window. The window is, by now, just a façade of caked on snow and ice from the howling blizzard which makes you cherish the hot chocolate in your hands all the more.

You take a few tentative sips of your hot chocolate and reach for a slice of the black bread and butter a slice and took a bite. As you chewed the bite of uniquely tasty delight you could feel a presence next to you. At first you think that one of the girls in the café is there to ask a question or two at the request of one their friends. But when you look up you see that a familiar face is looking down at you.

"Is this seat taken?" the girl asks, her face completely stoic and unemotional.

"Uh, yes."

Your response is one of surprise, why would she want to sit here?

But you look around and you see that all the other spots are taken. You had snagged the last empty table in the little coffee shop. She nods in acknowledgement and sets her own cup of hot chocolate on the table and pulls out a magazine with a tank on the cover, a tank you recognize as an M4 Sherman. And the only reason you know is because your big sister had been on Pravda's Sensha-dou team and graduated several years ago. She'd been quite an ecstatic prophet for the most famous of the battle sports and you couldn't help but absorb a few things over the years.

You can't help but feel the uncomfortable awkwardness of sitting at the same table as the tall brunette. You don't have your own book or magazine, and your phone has no service because of the snow storm outside. So there's only one thing you can do, might as well talk to the only person at the table with you.

"So…are you on the Sensha-dou team?"

Without putting the magazine down she replies, "Yes."

Another uncomfortable moment passes before you try again.

"Are you uh…waiting for someone?"

"Yes," she states again, not putting the magazine down.

"Well I'm waiting for a friend. He was supposed to pick me up but then this storm came around. I've never seen a storm like this."

"It happens from time to time, especially this far north," she says, this time lowering the magazine and looks at the white faced window, "Are you not from Pravda Boys High School?"

You look down at your olive green woollen coat with a red four-pointed star on your collar and you see why she would think that. Pravda students have to be fairly hardy because of the normal northern placement of the two ships' respective patrol routes like all ships tend to have.

"Oh yeah, it's my first year," you respond.

"It's mine as well," the young girl responds, "I'm Nonna," she states as she holds out her hand.

"Ivan, nice to meet you."

"What's that patch?" Nonna asks you, pointing at the newly added patch that shows a pair of crossed rifles with the Pravda insignia behind it. It's your only visible proof to being on the Combat Team, the boys' equivalent to Sensha-dou. It's basically an advanced paintball match with simunitions loaded into specially crafted replica weapons of the World War Two era. You had already gone to the two-a-days getting into shape for the team and have seen your first scrimmage against St. Gloriana's, a match your team won, but that's beside the point.

"Oh, I'm on the Combat Team," you respond with no small amount of pride laced through your voice, "My first year."

"Mine as well, we haven't had our first practice yet, the weather you understand."

You nod, knowing first-hand what she meant. The snow was still coming down by the ton outside, and you try to think of some way to continue the conversation so you decide to continue with the Tankery subject.

"What exactly happens with you girls and tanks? I never really understood what the appeal is for girls to use tanks for sport," you ask.

Nonna looks at you with a face that says, you really don't know? But then she furrows her brow in thought, as if she too didn't know exactly.

"I suppose it really depends. Some girls believe that it makes you a better woman, or a better mother, or a better wife. Others just want the thrill of such an activity as Sensha-dou."

"And you?" you ask, noticing she didn't say why she had chosen the sport.

"Me? Oh I suppose it's because of Katyusha," Nonna shrugged.

"And who's Katyusha?" you inquire, taking ever more interest in this beauty sitting before you.

"My best friend, she wanted to join because of the feeling of power and importance she got from being in such a tank. We're assigned to the KV-2, and she really likes it because of how tall it is. You see she hasn't exactly had it easy, it's kind of how Katyusha and I became friends, with me looking out for her."

The slight sorrow on her face as she says this intrigues you, and you can't help but feel that same feeling right along with her. But you don't know this girl Katyusha, you have no reason to pity her. What is it about Nonna that can make you feel this way just through a snippet of a conversation.

"What's wrong with your friend? Is she sensitive about stuff?"

"Katyusha isn't exactly the tallest girl around, and growing up she was made fun of by the other girls, especially during games, she'd be picked last, people would shun her, and worse just making fun of her size day in day out, the poor thing," Nonna whispers, gently toying with the cup of cocoa in her hands.

"I know how that feels, I suppose everyone has experienced it at some point," you say, keeping your voice at a respectful tone.

"Not like Katyusha," Nonna says sternly, looking you dead in the eyes, like a mother defending her child.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-," you stutter.

"No, it's alright, I find myself doing that sometimes. Me acting like Katyusha's mom, I have gotten so used to being there for her, even if she isn't around to hear."

"You're a good friend, I would assume you're here waiting for her then?"

"Yes, Katyusha had to attend her sister's wedding. She's a bit of a heavy packer and she'll need me to help get her bags back to her room."

"Oh, I see," you respond.

The conversation sort of dies right there with neither of you really knowing what to say. It seemed obvious to you she wasn't much of a talker, and the current conversation was more than likely the most she'd talked in a long time. It was also the longest conversation you've had with a girl your own age in quite a while. So once the current topic dried up that unbearable silence enveloped both you and Nonna. You twitter your thumbs around your cup and look down into your hot chocolate, seeing the light brown liquid was definitely starting to cool off and soon wouldn't be all that great to taste so you take a quick sip.

"Why do you boys join Combat Teams?" Nonna asks, "What is it that appeals to you boys?"

You hear it, and open your mouth to answer, but then you think about it a moment. The promotional videos never really said anything aside from strength, toughness, and leadership were learned by those who joined. Others did it for the thrill, and still more did it because of the idiom "girls love a man in uniform" which was why you had done it. But you can't say that to Nonna!

"Well, I guess it depends on the guy. They said in the intro video that it teaches strength, toughness, and leadership, which I suppose it does. I mean we carry a ton of stuff into each match, my rucksack alone is like sixty pounds and then I still have my rifle and ammo, an entrenching tool, four grenades, a smoke grenade, and we rotate carrying the extra boxes of spare ammunition. Then we actually get hit with simunitions of many different sizes, and I'll tell you one thing, they hurt if they don't knock you out."

"I heard about that. Is it true that you boys start to develop a resistance to the effects of your weapons?" Nonna asked, her eyes starting to twinkle as she becomes incredibly interested in the correct topic. You halfway sigh in relief, you don't want to sit in silence with her, especially after already having a fairly decent conversation with her.

"Well I don't know about that. We only had one scrimmage, and you don't really see the enemy as you see flashes, I mean unless it gets close quarters or you get them caught in the open. But there are some seniors on the team who were able to take some shots."

"Were you hit?" Nonna asks, leaning forward with intrigue written all over her face.

"Yeah I was," you chuckle remembering the half dozen welts on your legs from when you got hit running across a street from cover to cover, "Someone with a PPSH lit me up when I was running across a street. I've got the bruises to prove it."

"So they do leave marks?" Nonna states, more of a question than an epiphany.

"Yeah, well if they were downsized they wouldn't be able to knock someone out like they're supposed to, and if they were slowed down they would be about as accurate as a nerf gun."

Nonna giggled slightly, her hand shooting to her mouth to stifle the slightly girly outburst. You try not to notice it, as it seems she didn't mean for it to come out.

"Are…are you any good? On your team I mean?" Nonna inquires, having regained her composure.

"Well I was good enough to get immobilized for the round. My legs were sore for several days. But I guess I'm average, it's my first year doing it so I suppose I'll earn a few battle scars along the way. At least I'm not like my platoon leader, oh man he's a bullet magnet," you laugh, remembering the numerous times that junior had gotten plastered with simunition.

"Doesn't sound like he's much of a platoon leader," Nonna observes.

"Oh no he's awesome don't get me wrong, he's just been hit so many times that he's developed quite a resistance to it. Our commander said it's like an inadvertent way to level the playing field but give the older members an advantage at the same time. If you're not all that good at not getting hit you develop a resistance and it takes more to bring you down. But if you're really skilled and have been hit much less it doesn't take that much to bring you down."

"Hmm…clever, if only there were such devices in Tankery," Nonna says pleasantly, seeing the advantages with that, "If that were the case Anzio would be unstoppable."

She laughs at her own joke slightly and you chuckle as well, but you don't quite understand the exact connotations. Your scrimmage had been against Anzio, and they were a tough nut to crack and bloodied your team fairly proficiently. But she must know something you don't, but you play along as if you know anyway. But you can't help but ask anyway.

"But you'd still beat them right? I mean I know your tanks are pretty good but I have to confess, I don't know a thing about Anzio."

"Well, those poor girls are so outclassed, there hasn't been a year when they advanced beyond the second round. Their tanks are hardly worthy of being called tanks, most are small tankettes with machine guns, and the few real tanks they have can barely penetrate their own thin armor much less that of a T-34 or a Sherman, much less the Tigers or Panthers that Kuromorimine uses so well."

"Can't help but feel sorry for them huh?" you observe.

"They and a few others, some schools just have trouble bringing themselves to adopt tanks that aren't of their adopted nation's design or historical use. The burden of pride I've heard it called."

"Nonna!" a voice calls out from outside of the café, and both you and Nonna turn to see the source. What you see you can't help but laugh a bit at.

A quite short young blonde girl in a woollen coat is walking down the hallway. She's got blue eyes like Nonna's and her face is one of concern and slight anxiety as she looks around, scanning the room for her friend. She's got a bulging backpack that goes practically to her thighs on and is dragging two large rolling bags with another bag hanging from her shoulder.

"I guess that's Katyusha?" you ask, knowing the answer.

"Yes, that's her," she says, with a sad tone to her voice you weren't expecting. She then gets up after finishing her hot chocolate, "It was nice talking with you Ivan, oh," she stops, and grabs one of your napkins and takes out a pen and writes down a phone number, "Call me."

"Oh, um…I will, thank you Nonna," you respond, a surge of pride coursing through you. You just got her number, it's not a kiss, but for just meeting her, not bad. You watch her walk out to greet Katyusha, who immediately beams in joy at not being stood up and Nonna immediately takes the bag hanging from her shoulder along with one of the rolling bags. As she leaves she waves slightly behind her and you can clearly her say.

" Do svidanya!"

You don't need anyone to tell you who she was waving to.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notice:<strong>

**As you can see, I have fixed the DocX problems with this chapter.**

This here is Big Z1776's chapter.

Originally, he wanted to write a chapter for Erwin, I told him that he couldn't as I wanted to get the list from chapter 2 out of the way, and at the time I was working on Aquitaine - that was meant to be longer, but that would take more effort out of me than I'd have liked, and without effort I give up on things - though I told him I was also asked to write a Nonna chapter.

He asked if he could write that, and I said sure. I'm glad I did so, really, even though I personally won't likely include many - if any - infantry elements in the story, due to me dealing primarily on armoured warfare, rather than infantry. It's worded to a standard I find more than acceptable, and while I _personally_ dislike the love at first sight thing, I think it works here rather nicely. That's hypocrisy on my part, in a way, as if you take away the backstory from chapter 1, you get what surmounts to a love at first sight thing.

Among other news this week, I recently fond out that there is a _dub_ of GuP. I watched a few episodes - they're not to my tastes, but I was surprised to hear Asuka Langely Soryu there. It's been a good while since I watched Evangelion.

Also, I've been thinking of trying out Warthunder - though I'll probably just use it to test out tanks. I hear it has a more bearable minimum graphics setting than WoT.

Speaking of which, WoT no longer works for me - my frames died and the graphics card built into my laptops processor was on the verge of combusting in 9.2. So I won't be able to play in 9.3, which is sad as my parting memories will be of the Hellcats and KV-1S dominating every single game I played to remind myself of tier 5. With my funding rather sparse, I won't be able to upgrade any time soon.

**The tank that would have been introduced in this chapter in my old draft before it was deleted, would have been the Kliment-Voroshilov 220. Another mediocre premium with the potential for greatness in the right hands.**

**Post-publishing Editorial: After consulting the Sensha-dou rules once again, I have come to realise that the Löwe (which, if you're new to German, is pronounced 'loo-veh') is _not_ alegal tank. The Löwe and its gun never got past the design paper stage - there were six designs, the most practical and tank looking being the Schwere 'heavy' version you see in WoT.**

**In regards to this, I have chosen a much more real tank, in the form of the _**Panzerjäger Tiger Ausf. B**_- replete with its overly complicated gun. Yes, that is a more legal tank, and yes, it has all the handicaps of a Königstiger, and more.**

**Special thanks to the following people for reminding me both to re-read the rules, and reminding me they actually posted them on the internet:**

**TK3997**

**ErwinYukari.**


	5. Geheimnisse, Geständnisse

**Jeder und Panzer**

**Geheimnisse, Geständnisse**

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>I fight because it is all I knew growing up. Having the bigger gun also helps.<strong>_**" – Johann Baumann**

* * *

><p>"I- I'm only eating these so they don't go to waste." Your guest all but whines, glaring at you with her steel blue eyes. Her left elbow is resting on the tabletop as you turn around from the kitchen counter, and clutched in the other hand is a portion of one of your own home-baked <em>altdeutsche brötchen<em> – quickbread – that you'd taken out of the oven about half an hour back. You'd been taught to cook since you were little, and in the past year you'd been spending a lot of time inside Kuromorimine's cooking classroom, learning, and occasionally helping out.

_I didn't mean to set it alight…_

"Yes, you do that." You replied drolly, rolling your eyes. Erika Itsumi was a very unorthodox person, in that she was truly friendly to your mutual friend Maho Nishizumi – herself something of an oddity – and hostile to nearly everybody else. That is, until you started baking – she was rarely seen with anything sweet in her lunch, but she oddly enough had a sweet tooth for your quickbread "Bear in mind though, you keep on eating those like you do, and you won't be able to fit in your Panzer Three." Her eyes narrow

"I knew it!" she exclaims triumphantly, managing to cover your apron in crumbs as she leaps out of her seat. The only reason she's here is because of the fact she smelled the shortbread baking in the oven while walking through town. Johann – your brother – was once again in discussion with Shiho Nishizumi and her elder daughter. You could only assume it was about the fact boys were about to enter what was apparently a female-only sport "You're attempting to sabotage the team by rendering a commander unable to take part! This'll get you out of the sport for sure!"

_How was I to know that it'd burn so easily… ?_

"Yes, truly I am an evil mastermind. Nya~hah~hah~ha." Your deadpan delivery renders her silent for a good few seconds, before her normally stern face cracks a grin before she begins to laugh, you chuckling shortly afterwards. You never understood the whole stereotype thing where Germans had no humour. It was just very subdued in your eyes. The silence that follows after she stops is a mildly awkward one, which you resolve by sitting down opposite her and taking a slice of the quickbread "How do you do it, Erika?"

_So much smoke…_

"Eh?" Erika asks, having fallen into a silence briefly as she comprehended what you asked "What do you mean?"

"How do you stay so well kept?" you ask, pointing towards the small, but still noticeable, musculature of her upper right arm. Erika was possessed of a wiry build, at least in terms of how defined her muscles could get before they stopped growing. Such as now, for example, her arms were at their maximum definition, and they wouldn't grow further "I've been training for moths, and my arms haven't grown an inch. How do you do it?"

_Why did it have to be there… ?_

"Wh- why should I tell you anything?" Erika demands, her grip tightening on the quickbread slice, causing crumbs to fall to the floor. You sigh slightly at that, knowing it'd be yet more work for you to do while your brother spent most of the day over at the Nishizumi residence engaged in impromptu debates with a woman you found to be remarkably stern, and incredibly stubborn. You give her a quizzical look, raising your right eyebrow in question, and she averts her eyes "I'll never tell you. You're on your own."

"I didn't expect you to answer anyway, Erika." You tell her with a small smile "Why would I expect such a beautiful flower as yourself to give away her secrets?" she looks at you, astounded by what you just said. You, of course, had this planned form the outset. Erika was remarkably quick to temper, and her flustered point could be reached with but a single word. Rather like how your mother reacts to your father's more thinly veiled flirtations. She glares at you with narrowed eyes, her mouth still hanging open slightly and her cheeks red

"Why would you…"

"Say such a silly and nonsensical thing? The answer is that it's the truth." You explain calmly, watching her eye twitch. Her hand continues to crush the piece of baked goodness, much to your sorrow, and so you take the silent cue to explain "Personally, I find you adorable, and yet ever since I first met you and tried to get into your good graces, you acted harshly. My legs still bear the markings of your boots. Truly, if there are like a beautiful flower upon this ship, it's you. Truly dazzling to the eye, and yet wreathed in thorns."

Erika glares at you, a vein appearing on her left temple, a vibrant, yet subdued blue against her pale skin.

To your surprise, she slumps her shoulders, seemingly in defeat

"There's no getting away from you, is there?" she asks, looking you directly in the eyes, and you maintain her stare until she's forced to look away "Very well… I'll share the day with you – but only to shut you up. I don't like you or anything." A brief silence falls between you, before she gives a small smile – as beautiful a sight as you imagined – and begins to chuckle

Her smile, however, is dwarfed by your own euphoric grin

"It would be this _humble_ gunner's pleasure to accompany you for the day, _dame_ Erika." You declare, as far from humble as you can possibly hope to be. Erika rolls her eyes at your antics, but you've succeeded, where many locals boys have likely failed to get her attention during her original secondary education schooling. Such is your pride, that you think your heart skipped a beat "Sadly, I had no plans for today other than to bake and keep everything clean. Did you have any plans?"

Erika simply grins.

* * *

><p>The first order of day – or rather afternoon, seeing as Erika had come over at midday – had been to escort Erika back to her home. That wasn't much to ask, as she lived next door to the Nishizumi residence, which was nothing more than a full fifteen minutes away from where you lived. After that, she told you to wait outside while she tidied herself up, and told you in no uncertain terms that you'd best be grateful that she was even doing this for you, even if it was only to shut you up and stop you asking constantly.<p>

Not that you did, mind you. You took your time, nothing more than once a month if you remembered correctly.

The front door opens, and your jaw drops a tad.

Erika is a person who favours Kuromorimine colours, even outside of school. Dark, subdued greys complemented by the occasional flash of red. You're surprised by the fact that she has clothes that _aren't_ school colours – specifically, she's wearing a white dress normally worn in summer – it's winter – using Columbia blue as a spot colour, as is the case with the straps, the belt, and the two lines on the bottom.

_Hide all my worries away, keep my shame a secret_

"Well?" she asks, doing a twirl on the pathway leading through her garden "You better like it- I went through a lot of trouble getting this dress!" you supress the urge to laugh and instead nod, mesmerised at the fact that she wasn't in her usual fashion repertoire "Don't just nod at me, picnic boy, say something!"

"You look truly dazzling, _dame _Erika." You tell her, regaining your bearings. Erika sighs and mutters something as she walks down the path towards you, and on some instinct you crook your arm.

To your surprise, she actually goes along with it and puts her arm through yours

"Good. It's not that I _need_ your compliments, but…" your left eyebrow quirks of its own accord again before she mumbles something just loud enough for you to hear "it'd help with wearing the dress." Indeed, Erika favoured pants, normally black slacks, and dresses were an oddity. A skirt? Certainly she could wear skirts, as Kuromorimine was an all-girl environment - You and your crewmates usually kept to the tank hangar – but to wear a dress, in the company of a boy? Almost certainly impossible.

_Brother would forget me if I brought it up…_

"Forget what other people think," you tell her, voice as supporting as you can make it "You are you, and they're just jealous that they aren't as pretty as you." Her cheeks redden, and you take a small sense of pride at the fact that you managed to both support and further praise her. You're walking past the Nishizumi residence now, and you can see your brother in one of the windows, looking away from you. The two of you continue on your way, you glad that your brother didn't notice.

_We are Nachtmaren, with no room for trivialities like doubt_

"We're not too far from the park now." Erika tells you, and she's right – at the far end of the street there's the park, the leaves in the trees a pleasant mix of orange and brown "There's a part of the park where nobody really goes next to the pond, it's too hilly for them to walk properly." Her voice sounds somewhat hopeful at the prospect of privacy "It's out of the way, so nobody can see me in this."

"It's your day," you say "We'll do whatever you want."

_No room for mercy. The Nachtmaren wish for only victory…_

Erika's primary response to your comment is to blush and look away, shoulder length ash blonde hair covering her face, muttering something you can't hear. You do nothing but continue to smile and continue onwards towards the park. She's looking straight ahead by the time you've cleared the Nishizumi house's walls, though her cheeks continue to look slightly flushed. A few people walking away from the park smile in your direction and nod in greeting before continuing onwards with their day. You yourself gain a slight veneer at that revelation

"Don't you _dare_ get embarrassed around me." Erika scolds you, slapping your arm lightly, a small scowl on her face "If I'm not allowed to be embarrassed, then you most certainly can't, either." You look at her in mild surprise, only to think better of it – it took you the better part of a year to get to this position, and you _refuse_ to allow it to be mucked up in any manner. As a member of Germany's most prestigious Junior Tankery club, you have a reputation to uphold "Once we get in, turn right and keep going straight ahead."

"I take it this leads off the beaten path, then?" you ask, receiving a nod in return. Your 'date' having successfully slipped back into her usual 'dominant-submissive presence' routine, normally acted out by being Maho's second voice in almost all matters that concerned the both of them, you begin to chuckle again "Did _dame_ Nishizumi tell you how she came by the services of my brother?" you ask her, receiving a perplexed look from Erika, before she nods, once. You're certain that either Johann himself, or Maho told her. Even your sister Nina isn't allowed to mention that shame-inducing incident

_They'll forget me, forget Johann… forget all we've done right._

"This isn't the place to talk about things like that, you hear me?" she scolds you again, this time her eyes are cold, glaring up at you. Her head only reaches your shoulders, and yet you still feel somewhat more than intimidated by the sheer fierceness of that stare "We'll talk about it later, when we've finished the picnic." The fact that she took the time to remind you of the wicker basket tells you a lot, but nonetheless you're thankful, and so nod appreciatively "Good. We're here now, anyway."

It's a small hillock in a clearing dominated by one of the many ponds in the park. Sat atop the small mound is a willow tree, and while the scene may sound like a romance scene from one of the books you once read, the water was never described as being brown-green, and there was a thick square pillar sat in the middle of the pond, atop which was a tank you knew well; a _Panzerkampfwagen IV_ – possibly _Ausführung D_ given the modified gun mantlet. The commander herself wore a side cap, tilted to the left, her hair shoulder length

"I don't know who she is, if you're going to ask." Erika states bluntly, as you remove the blanket from the hamper and lay it down. Shortly afterwards come the sandwiches and flask, two cups attached to the lid. Within the minute you've set down two small plastic boxes, and one large box, the former containing the quickbread, and the latter containing several sandwiches cut up into smaller portions "All I know is that she must have been good, enough to earn a statue dedicated to her. The rest of the crew are sat on the side of the tank."

True to form, there are four girls, two seated on each side of the tank. All of them are wearing the same uniform as the Commander, and so you focus on their features. The two on the left are the loader and gunner, as the one furthest from the commander has her left arm raised and fingers pointed like a gun. Her counterpart is holding a shell, and both have short hair, at chin length. The furthest from the commander on the right side has long hair and a headset on, meaning that the other long-haired girl was the driver

_They look so happy… just like me when I started…_

You're quick to get rid of that train of thought

"I see…" you mutter, as Erika seats herself on the picnic blanket. There's something _very_ familiar about the commander, but you can't put your foot on it. That's something for you to think about later, at least. You quickly pop the seals on the large sandwich box and offer it to Erika, who promptly takes out one of the chicken sandwiches, and you yourself take out a salad sandwich "But why is her statue left all the way out here?"

"Like I said, I don't know." Erika replies, hastily swallowing the bite she just took in order to answer "It's been here for as long as I can remember, and even though everywhere else is filthy, the statue has _always _been clean and free of moss. Rather odd, isn't it?"

"Yes," you say, taking a bite out of your own sandwich. You dislike the quiet, even though you can hear the people not too far away. Due to the nature of the artificial environment provided by the ship, it was almost impossible to find any wildlife on board "It is."

_Shamed by my own pride. Johann doesn't call me brother…_

"Hm? Michael, is something wrong?" Erika asks, shaking you from a reverie you didn't even realise you'd slipped into. You look at her, and she blushes lightly, looking away "It's not like I'm concerned for you, or anything… I just need you to carry the hamper. It's yours, after all." You begin to chuckle, something you haven't done in over a year, and soon it becomes a laugh. Not the forced laughs you've been giving since the incident, but a pure, carefree laugh, a laugh you haven't laughed since childhood

"No, nothing is wrong, _dame_ Erika." You say, managing to contain your laughter. You found this side of Erika to be… cute, really "Merely thinking. Your _humble_ servant will be by your side for as long as you need." At that Erika smiled. She rarely smiled when she was around Maho, emulating the so-called 'Nishizumi face'. The only one in that family that didn't try to be impassive at all times was the younger sister, Miho. She was on her final year of secondary education, if you remembered rightly – she'd most likely join her sister in Kuromorimine at Shiho's behest

"Good." Erika says, closing her eyes briefly and _almost_ laying down, before shooting back into a sitting position and glaring at you "You better not have been thinking about me, you pervert." The accusation merely makes you burst out into a gale of laughter with the unexpectedness of her remark

"Why on earth would I do that?" you ask, as she humphs and lays back down "You're already here. That's good enough for me." Her eyes open and she gives you a look, not quite a glare but certainly not one of caring "I really do like you, _dame_ Erika."

Her eyes soften slightly, but still manage to maintain that not-glare look to them before she sighs, a defeated look crossing her face briefly as she once again, slowly, sits back up. She stares you down, her eyes an odd mix of emotions, and you realise that she well and truly _has_ caught you off guard. You've been in her and Maho's company for a year and a quarter, and not once have you ever seen her look like this

"But can I _trust_ you?" she asks simply "How do I know you won't betray me for another, prettier girl?"

The two of you sit there in silence as you ponder on what to say.

You smile softly at her

"Because, I trust _you_,_ dame_ Erika, to keep me on the right path when I can't." you tell her, voice quiet as you shuffle closer slightly "Being in your presence alone makes my heart beat in a manner I cannot describe, a manner I have never felt with anyone else. I can't keep you out of my thoughts, _dame_ Erika, because I feel my heart beats only for you."

Erika's eyes widen at your words.

And then she kisses you.

* * *

><p><em>Perhaps I can still hope to see the other side of the hill, after all…<em>

"Michael?" Erika asks, looking at you, though your mind is elsewhere "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Hm?" You'd finished the picnic half an hour back, and now the two of you were just sat there in the almost eerily quietude of that secluded area of the park. You look to the sky, and see the sky just beginning to turn purple as the sun began to set "About why me and Johann are here? Yes… Yes, I _do_ want to talk about it."

That one moment had shamed you. Shamed you, Johann, Gertrude, Minna, Joachim, and even Erica – who Johann has not yet forgiven for stealing his favourite cap. The rest of the WW2 _Nachtmaren_ – Germany's largest, most efficient Tankery team, stretching across all ages and vehicles – had stopped speaking to you. Or at least, the ones at the younger end. _Donner _was their idol, an immense obelisk that earned praise the country over – and then you had fired that shot that had forced Johann to concede the duel. The fault for the team's shame was yours and yours alone. You were alone.

Erika, in a surprise move, puts her hand on your shoulder

"Why don't you start at the beginning?" she asks

This is it, you think, nobody else knows about this. Not Johann, not Nena, not Maho, or the crew. If they knew, you'd be removed from the machine. That'd be very bad, as _Donner_ is the focal point of your life now, the father that you never had. _Donner_ is there for you when _mutter_ can't. _Donner_ is there for you when you can't hold the bitter tears in any longer.

You take a deep breath, and then you begin.

.

"_Michael, can you see them?" Johann asked, his voice as calm and composed as ever "Light shot's loaded." No, Johann had always insisted on preserving what he considered art. Light shot was considered his form of playing with the opposition, and he knew full well there was little that could be done against his tank._ Donner_ packed the single most powerful tank-mounted gun of the Second Great War, the 12.8cm Panzerabwehrkanone 44, and while it took a long time to load, one shot was all you needed "That tank is art, Michael, I expect it to be treat with respect."_

"_Of course, brother." You said, a small grin on your face as you rested your face against the targeting optics. You were proud of who you were – you were among Germany's most respected sports teams, you were_ Nachtmaren_, Nightmares. You were what the new teams aspired to be, what the veterans were proud to be called! You were the nightmares of your foes. It would take a miracle for your foes to penetrate the armour of your tank, as this poor soul would soon find out. Your grin widened, and you pulled the trigger "Firing!"_

_The shot flew over them._

_Erica and Gertrude were already at work, assembling the projectile and cartridge for the next 'light' shot. You checked their position again before your hands began to rotate the cannon into position. You didn't need to aim, not properly. The Matilda was a slow tank, even moreso with that bulky turret strapped onto it. You were obeying Johann's order, and you didn't need to hit them to make them scared. The sound of the hatch slamming shut caused your grin to widen, and you finished calibrating your aim, deliberately aiming ahead of them "Firing!" the gun boomed triumphantly in return._

_The shot went wide of your expected angle, and you saw the road wheels on the Matilda's left side detach._

_You didn't look behind you, knowing already that Johann was glaring at you. That tank was a prototype, a Matilda Black Prince. Seeing Matildas was a frequent occurrence, and once or twice you had encountered the battleships known only as the TOG II. Never had you seen the tank that that turret was meant for – the Churchill Black Prince. If Johann saw a tournament with that name upon it, he would leap at the chance to try to fight it._

_You recalibrated your aim once again – that tank was crippled, no matter what they did. They fired their gun at you, but all it did was dent the upper casing before it bounced. Once again Erica and Gertrude were already finishing up the process of assembling the shot, the latter taking the initiative and opening the hatch. In seconds the round was loaded and the hatch slammed shut, and then Joachim began to move the tank. Once again the gun of the Matilda bounced off of the upper casing, and within minutes you were on the other side of it._

_You stay quiet, watching them as they made to fetch the gun around, and then you sigh_

"_Firing." the gun boomed._

_It struck the engine._

_You could only watch in horror as the white flag went up from the Matilda and its crew began to bail. The boy in the commander's cupola, however, instead dived back inside. Moments later he emerged again, clutching his face, and then dragged another boy out after him. The officials were some distance away, watching from safety. Joachim nodded to Minna, who muttered that they would concede, and all you could do was watch them._

_._

"I never..." you murmur, before the dam you've maintained for months finally breaks down "I never meant to hurt them!"

You hang your head, looking away from the Panzer IV, and let the tears fall. If the _Nachtmaren_, or your crew, saw you like this they would surely remove you from the team. You kept yourself strong so you could stay , hoping to fix your mistake, show the others that you were still capable.

You don't notice Erika look at you sadly

"It's okay…" she soothes, lowering you down until your head resting in her lap "I'll help you…"

* * *

><p>You are Erika Itsumi, and you've never failed a friend.<p>

Michael Baumann is, in your eyes, an idiot who has no qualms playing dirty if there's nothing else he can do. Unlike his brother, Michael is a lecher, who has in the past managed to spend time waiting for you to finish gym-class simply so he see you, make a pass, and then get shot down bluntly. Never, however, have you seen him in such a pitiful state. Despite his quirks, Maho-_san_ calls him friend, and as such you do the same, despite the vitriol between the two of you.

Now, more than ever, this stupid prat needs your help.

You've heard of Germany's _Nachtmaren_ sports team. A large scale clique formed of some of the best around, and given that despite his faults Michael was a member, he had some worth to the school. On several occasions he'd even managed to tear apart one of the targets without bothering to check the optics. Mind you though, the Panzerjäger I doesn't even have optics, so he simply stood up and fiddled about with the gun for a bit. They, however, made a mistake you never would.

They only trusted strength.

You at least trusted people who were capable of individual thought. From the views of the _Jagdtiger_'s crew, the _Nachtmaren_ were little more than sort strange hive-mind whose only thought was that of victory. Michael's obsession on victory had only increased since the incident, according to his story, and while Johann and the others had conceded their victory in order to assist their beleaguered competitors where they could, they had still ignored him in favour of other matters. With Johann there was at least an excuse, given he was frequently in the presence of Nishizumi-_sama_, but the others were silent.

They betrayed the trust of a friend, more importantly, they betrayed the trust of a crewmember, heresy in your eyes.

Even if you didn't like him, you still considered a friend, and at the moment, it seemed you were the only one he could rely on. In a way, you muse, gently stroking the crying boy's hair, it was your fault he was in this state - you had asked him if he wanted to talk about it. You were the only help he had at the moment. You had agreed to his preposterous idea, and he had agreed willingly.

If that wasn't him showing his devotion to you, then what was?

Yes, you decide, he was worth your time

"_Are you alright now, Michael?_**"** you ask, slipping into the language that he was more familiar with. You hadn't really taken notice of the fact that he had slowly begun to stop crying, but he was reduced to a few dry sobs and mostly sniffling. Were anybody else in a situation like this you would have found them weak. Michael, though – he deserved to have this moment, more than anyone else. He had carried this baggage for over a year

"_Yes… Yes, I'll be alright._**"** You hear him mutter. He's managed to at least keep your dress clean – you owe him for that, you're certain, as your mother would kill you if it got sullied. He looks up at you sadly, a small, defeated smile on his face **"**_I suppose you've changed your mind about me, then?_**"** he looked entirely dejected. This was not the cheerful – if perverted – boy you'd known for a year. In response you pull a napkin from the hamper and wipe his eyes

"No," you say softly, with a slight smile "I made the right choice."

He manages to smile, and you slowly realise that you feel warm inside. Is this what it's like to help people, you think, but then you realise that you've never felt this feeling before. You would've had this feeling before when you'd helped people. This feels… unique, as if you have butterflies in your stomach. You give him a small smile of your own, before you look to the sky – it's starting to get dark now, and Johann will most likely be returning home at this very moment. Your parents are liable to get suspicious, even though your phone's on

"Let's get you back home, hm?" you ask, before he nods, face never loosing that slight smile he has at the moment, and then you realise that in his mind, he's scored a great victory of its own right. He's had that smile since the start of your… _date_, and it's only now you realise that he's managed to do what many high school boys had failed to do – crack open the shell of Erika Itsumi, ice queen extraordinaire. You begin to laugh softly to yourself at that, even as he finishes packing away the blanket and the sandwich boxes.

Even though his face is tearstained, his eyes red and puffy, he still crooks his arm, and you take it

"I'll be alright to walk myself home, _dame_ Erika." He manages to say, as you nod "I'll walk you home."

"Thank you," you reply, as the two of you fall into a quaint silence. The trees let through the dying light of the sun, leaving the area in an almost twilight-esque environment. When it gets late the park usually gets visited by groups of boys who enjoy defacing things – you suppose that's the reason why the Nameless Tanker's hidden away.

The lack of animals mean that the walk is almost entirely soundless, the sights of the park punctuated by the lights that turn on the second it starts to get dark. For now, at least, you're no longer Erika Itsumi, ice queen and loyal adherent of the Nishizumi way, but rather Erika Itsumi, caring friend and helper to those in need. For the moment, your parents can wait for a short while. You need to make certain he's alright

"Erika," Michael asks, his voice sounding hoarse "Can we try this again… properly… next week?"

"Yes," you reply "I'd like that."

* * *

><p><strong>Authorial Notice: <strong>Today, my friends, is a most glorious day!

Planefag has brought Strike Witches Quest back, with all the glorious trolling and pants on headed idiocy that it entails! Such was my joy, that it influence my naming policy for the chapter as a tribute. I also continued the gag of hat theft, as it is in and of itself a tradition dating back to the Second World War. For added fun, let's see if you can guess the other reference from character names.

The main point of this chapter is to introduce the characters who make the story a tad... darker, I suppose. This is also my first attempt at writing trauma that I actually liked. I originally mentioned Erika being a tsundere in a PM conversation, but at finish up I feel I botched it entirely. So yes, here's your chapter, I hope you enjoy.

In other news, I'm back to writing, so I'll leave the deciding to you.

Also, WT does _not_ like my laptop, at all. Tells me my graphics card's outta date, and if you know tech, you'll know you can't replace a laptops' graphics card.

Any idea on who you want for next chapter?


	6. Shame

**Shame**

_"__A strong soul is one who sheds his tears freely, rather than refuses to cry." – 'John Smith', Tank Commander_

"Are you certain that Miho would enjoy Tankery as you do?" you ask her, watching carefully for a reaction. The Nishizumi heiress, however, is much like yourself – a stone mask not easily broken. It is one of the reasons that you call her friend, the other being that it was only through her kindness that you had managed to find housing at all when you first arrived. She had countered her mother's protests on the subject in a matter of minutes, strong-arming you and your team into a pseudo-teaching role for her team as compromise "The sport is dangerous, after all. Our incident proved that."

"Miho and I were raised by a long line of tankers, and our mother is widely regarded as the best of her generation, and the pioneer of the Nishizumi Style." She counters calmly, looking out of the window at the Sakura tree that grows out in the garden. Sat out there with a few of her friends is the youngest of the two daughters, Miho "It is the path most expected for her to take. Anything else would most likely upset mother, and that would in turn upset Miho." Her words, while analytical, are not like yours. She truly _cares_.

While you care for your brother, it's clear Maho dotes upon her younger sibling, that she would do _anything_ to help her

"Even so, Maho, I have seen first-hand what could go wrong in this sport." You remind her, voice firm but not unkindly "Would you let your mother put her in a tank when it's likely there are far superior tanks on the enemy team? When there's a high chance a stray shot could cause a fire to break out inside?" you turn back to look at her "Would you let her go the same way as that boy?" That boy had squealed like a dying pig, clutching his burned face, trying desperately to keep the skin from flaking away

"You are no saint in that department either," she reprimands, regaining her footing on the conversation and forcing you onto the defensive in a single, swift move "Your sister told me that it was you who forced your brother into the Tankery circuit, that you had regaled him with exaggerated tales in order to hook him in. Erika told me last week that she heard him crying to himself. Had she not been there for him, who knows what he would have done!"

"You don't think I realise that, Maho?" you ask quietly, managing to catch her off guard as your own mask drops briefly "You don't think I realise that it was my fault he joined the _Nachtmaren_ to be with his brother, who had told him stories of Germany's greatest team? You don't think I realise that he was broken when took that _Scheiß_ shot?" you ignore the look on her face and continue "Why do you think I'm against Miho joining your team? Look at her, so… _innocent_. All it takes is one fluke… I don't want something like that to happen again!"

"What makes you think such a thing would happen here?" she demands, all but glaring at you as she crosses her arms "There hasn't been an accident like that in decades! Unlike your European league, we have things called _precautions_ in place as a countermeasure to such things!" you expected the slap to be coming at some point, but you've had worse things hit you in the past – dropped shells on your foot, even the occasional brawl at school – and as such you ignore it almost entirely "Now leave my sister out of this!"

You look away from her briefly, nothing more than a few seconds at most, close your eyes, and you sigh

"Forgive me," you apologise, maintaining eye contact with her – it's one of her quirks, you've noticed, she doesn't like it when a person can't keep eye contact with her during a conversation "I know it was wrong of me to pry into matters that don't concern me, but I don't want something bad to happen." It is at that moment you break eye contact to look out of the window "Michael used to be like her, you know? So pleasant to be around. Teachers praised him, my parents had him on their favourite child pedestal, even the _Nachtmaren_ enjoyed his presence." Your smile turns bitter as you look back to her "And then he fired that shot. The match should have ended the moment that first shot hit, but it didn't. We had to continue, because the tank had to have a non-operational engine to lose.

"Michael fired twice after that." You continue, growing slightly angrier with each word "The second shot went wide, and the third caused the engine to die, _und vieles mehr!_" Maho knows German, quite well at that, but you doubt she can keep pace with you "_Ein Feuer begann, und einer von ihnen wurde darin gefangen. Ihr Kommandant kam heraus, und dann ging er wieder unter zu holen ein Mitglied seines Teams. Sein Gesicht war verschlackt, wenn er kam zurück!__[1]_"

"Even so, Miho's life is her own." She says, voice soft but firm. There's something in her voice that makes your heart tremble slightly, but not in any way that can be described as 'unpleasant'. Such an occurrence is most alien to you "I understand that what you're trying to do is with the best of intentions of mind, but Miho is no relation of yours. Miho has been set on becoming a tanker like our mother and myself since she could _walk_, and while I too wish that she could stay safe, I know that she is sensible enough to make her own decisions. So please, as a friend, _stay out of this_." It's a tone you're familiar with, one of a commanding officer who knows entirely what she's doing, and in response you nod once and salute

"… Of course, _Junker_." You say, the bitter smile slowly being replaced with one that was merely sad. There were other words that would have been more fitting, but you found _this_ particular word to be most adequate for the situation at hand. After all, she _is_ young, and at least her views on the problem plaguing you are far more noble than your own. It is another thing you've noticed over the past year – you and the _Nachtmaren_ tended to handle things through brute force, and when that failed whatever came to hand, such as the time two _Kugelblitz _had been employed to take out a French team "For you, and only you."

The words felt right, at least.

It doesn't stop her from blinking in surprise and taking a step backwards

"Excuse me?" she manages to ask, clearly dumbfounded by your words, and you look away far too hastily for your own liking. You begin to turn to walk away when you feel a hand clamp onto your shoulder with a vice-like grip, and she manages to spin you on your heel to face her again, and you can see confusion in her eyes "What did you say?" you choose to remain silent, however, and you note that your face is burning. Another peculiar occurrence – it's a rather frosty day, and even with the presence of the sun, it's only lukewarm at best "Johann? What did you just say to me?" you feel only the slightest of smiles creep onto your face, and it is not bitter in the least

"Young lord." You reply, and Maho actually breaks eye contact – but only to roll her eyes, and then you can feel them begin to bore into you "You were the first person here to treat me with respect as a tanker, the first to call me friend, too. I'll stay out of Miho's way, a favour _for you, and only you_." There's sincerity in your voice, and the warmness on your face feels as though it's intensifying. Maho seems to notice this warm feeling on your face, and for some reason she gains a slight pink veneer to otherwise pale skin. In turn you take notice of this, and the warmth on your face intensifies

"Miss Maho, why is your face flushed?" you ask, absolutely perplexed "Are you feeling unwell?"

It is that moment, Maho does something you didn't expect in the least.

She starts _laughing_

"Is it something I said?" you ask, finding yourself dumbfounded, to which she continues to laugh. Not a minute ago she was telling you – rightfully so, you admit – to stop pestering in matters that don't concern you. You wait a minute or so for the laughter to die down, at which point she's returned back to her normally formal self, and then it hits you like a bombshell "I'm blushing, aren't I, _Junker-san_?"

She nods, and you feel slightly numb

"… Michael seems happier around Erika." You say, hastily trying to change the subject "I haven't seen him like this since he first entered the circuit." Maho nods, and then motions to the seats behind you. The sitting room is actually one of the few rooms in the house to have proper seats, or any form of a western feel. The majority of the building is built with a heavy influence from the native culture, and is overall, actually a pleasant blend. The seats in the sitting room are squat, blocky affairs that have backs that only come up to the base of your shoulder blades, a chaimosee brown in colouration, and the legs are barely visible metal bands, as thick as your hand when their held flat.

Maho sits on the two-cushion settee, with its back to the window, while you sit in one of the two chairs set around the glass top coffee table

"You never told me much about this _Nachtmaren_ you used to be a part of," Maho states as she crosses one leg over the other and reclining slightly, tearing the metaphorical rug from under your feet. She's staring quite intensely at you now, bistre eyes boring far deeper into you than any other time you've had a talk. She knows she's already got the home-field advantage in this particular battle, and flaunts it subtly by placing her right hand on her knee, and then resting her left arm on the settee arm, hand hanging off the edge "But from the sounds of it they sound badly mannered. Can you tell me about them properly?" you close your eyes and sigh at the request, but nonetheless she's treat you as a friend, rather than a utensil like lady Shiho has – you owe her that much

"The _Nachtmaren_ were founded when the Berlin Wall was taken down as a means of placating any Eastern Germans who were not particularly pleased by the outcome of their falling out with Western Germany." You begin, sinking into your seat and reclining "Initially, it was an extension of the local Tankery network, and then as time went on it was integrated fully into the sport – but only in Germany. Nowadays, the Nachtmaren are just a team – a particularly large team that only takes those who do extremely well, but a team nonetheless – but they don't play by the proper rules.

"The original version of the _Nachtmaren_ was built around stress relief, with teams of angry young men and women in big machines and an enclosed space in which to beat the life out of one another. There were no rules to it then, just a particularly nasty circuit where the strong were hailed as heroes. There was no joy in the teamwork then, just the thrill of a fight. Now there are teams who contain people who will work side by side, but back then it wasn't uncommon for teams to break apart to prolong the fight, while in the middle of a fight. The only way for there to be a 'winner' was there to be one tank left after it had all gone to pot.

"My team and I were noticed at middle school," you continue "Back when we were in the beginners circuit for the sport. We could only use tankettes loaded with paint-" you feel a smile cross your face at that particular memory. Things were much simpler then "-and one of the original members of the _Nachtmaren_ was commentating. We were only allowed to use the original generation of Tankettes, from the Second World War, as the newer ones, like the Wiesel, were considered too advanced. Nena and Myself were teamed up in a Te-Ke, Minna was in a TKS with… I can't remember his name, Young or something. Gertrude and Erica were in a T-27. The man said that we had performed exceptionally well, given the machines we were using. The truth of the matter was that we didn't have a clue on what we were doing, and most of our hits were flukes.

"And so it was that we found ourselves with invitations to join a junior's league. We came second while using a Panzer III, the winners having done so while using a R35. They had hidden away the entire fight until we were not expecting them, and then they tore down the wall separating us and removed our tracks before darting away." Maho nods as you take a slight pause "It was around that time that we were not suited to the hustle and bustle of active tank combat. we were narrow minded then, focussing only upon the specifications of the tank, how thick the armour was and the like, not caring for the practical application of the tank at all. Our victories came from sheer stubbornness, and as we realised it, Nena took the shot, and managed to lock up their turret. I'll never know how she did it.

"On points, they won. In execution, we won." You conclude "While they won, it was a draw in most eyes, and both teams were offered the chance to join the _Nachtmaren_. They came aboard this ship alongside us – they've had that piece of scrap Indien-Panzer since we acquired the _Jagdtiger_."

Maho looks at you, and you cannot tell if it's pity in her eyes, or something else.

For several minutes, she is silent, contemplating what you've told her of your past, and then she goes to start talking

"Michael joined up later, then?" she asks, and you nod

"The boy Minna was teamed up with transferred onto the Indien-Panzer." You explain "With him not on the team we were down a gunner. I began to tell stories to Michael to impress him into joining us, and eventually he did." Your voice shakes slightly, and you realise it only too late that your mask is slipping "It was the wrong thing to do, but I was younger then, how was I to know what would happen?" this is a side of you that you dislike strongly. You do not like being seen as _weak_, your father would have your head if he caught you being something less than what he expected of you "He was allowed in at my request when our original team was fractured – that was the second year I was there. In the first year we used a stagecoach." Oh how you loathed that T-28. A mobile barn – a moderately speedy one, to be sure, but still a barn – and it lacked any punch.

That 76mm KT-28 could only get you so far

"You're crying." Maho states, and you can't place the tone in her voice, and you stare at her incredulously for a few seconds before she gets to her feet and walks around the table to you, and rests a hand on your shoulder. There's a small, reassuring smile on her face "You don't need to tell me anymore, _mein freund_. I won't put you through such misery any longer." There is a strange feeling in your chest at her words, a warmth that you can't describe. You feel tears begin to well, and within seconds you find yourself crying a torrent. Maho pats your shoulder, and your heart soars for less than a second as she turns away and walks into the kitchen, emerging a few moments later with a few tissues

"My thanks." You manage to tell her. Maho merely keeps smiling and returns to her seat, this time laying down with a cushion propped up against one side as she leaves you to your crying. Normally, her mother would scold her for being so lax in the presence of guests, that such behaviour was unbecoming of her heir, but Shiho Nishizumi is not aboard the _Kuromorimine_, her presence required on the mainland for a week at the least – normally, the meetings she attended took her the better part of two months if they pertained to _Sensha-do_, which this one does.

You look out of the window for a few seconds, a watery smile on your face as you attempt to stop crying.

It is not long after you fall into a fitful sleep.

It is also not long before you wake up to find somebody pinching your cheek.

You proceed to find yourself staring into bistre-hued eyes

"You have such pretty eyes…" you mumble, only mildly surprised. Having grown to having people all but head-butting you when you wake up Only now do you realise that you're not sat up in the seat, but rather laid down in it, with your legs dangling over the right arm and your head dangling over the left. Sadly, having your head just hang limply like it must have been leaves disorientated, and your words sound slurred – particularly to you. It is at that moment that you realise just what you said to your commander, and your eyes dart open. You note she's blushing like she was earlier as you begin to ramble like a drunkard "PleaseforgivemecommanderIoversteppedmybounds-" you are promptly shushed by Maho placing a finger to your lips, an odd look in her eyes

"No, you didn't." Maho tells you, sounding somewhat reserved about the whole matter. In the year that you've known her, you have never seen her quite like this – she sounds _lost_, even moreso than you did but a while back. Maho remains quiet for a few seconds, pondering on what to say next, before she speaks again "I'm not Commander Nishizumi today, am I?" a few more seconds as she chooses her words and phrasing "I am me. You are you, and Miho is Miho." There is a familiar glint in her eyes as she states the last part, that of a protective sibling. Someone unlike yourself, given that you were the cause for his traumatic experience. A great sense of shame overcomes you, and Maho speaks once again, drawing you from your reverie "You have nice eyes, too… and a smile, when you choose to have one." You see a grudgingly-given blush on her face as she removes her finger, which was one of the things keeping you mute while she talked. The other being respect.

She looks at you for a few seconds more, and for the briefest of moments you swear you could have seen her smile slightly, if only for the briefest of moments.

You gulp nervously

"I suppose I'd best… say something nice about you, then?" you manage to say, and that small smile returns for a few seconds as she nods in confirmation. Why is she being so nice to you? What have you done to deserve her being nice to you? Not even an hour or two back you were sticking your nose where it didn't belong! "The sun and moon together wish that they were as beautiful as you, _mein_ _Junker_." Though it's enough to cause her to blush quite visibly, you find yourself thinking it was quite lacking – however, the art of poetry was never a particularly strong point to you, so that's up in the air for all to grab at "Is that good enough for you, Maho?" the peculiar warmth in your chest intensifies as you find yourself blushing, and you give a nervous smile to her. When she returns it, you find that warmth has become a most pleasant feeling

"I- Is that so?" Maho queries softly, leaning back in her seat, a hand covering her mouth, as if she's thinking of something "Why, thank you." Her eyes sparkle slightly, and you're not certain you enjoy that too much "There is to be a small party once she comes back, at the end of the week. Erika already asked if Michael would be coming along with her, and he agreed. Perhaps you come along with me?" her eyes posess a peculiar glint, one that can't make up its mind on what it wants to be "If only to repay my kindness in persuading mother to let you stay." There is a thought in the back of your head that she's trying to distract you from your shame, but you ignore it. If that is what she wants, you owe it to her to let her help in her own way

"I'm not certain I have anything to do that day, Maho." You tell her, a small smile on your face "I'd be delighted to accompany you."

Maho smiles back at you, and you consider your words to be the truth.

* * *

><p><strong>Authorial Notice:<strong>

**Well, I'm down one big toe. Not toe nail, but the actual toe. I can't stand on my own toe feet properly. The reason being this - I was upset enough to have not notice I dropped a seven foot segment of iron fencing on my foot until several hours after the fact. I believe the reason I was upset was due to the fact that my home had been burgled, and nobody had claimed that fence for scrap despite it being in a skip. Was a nice fence, too. If you're wondering how I know it was seven feet - I'm six foot four, I _know_ seven feet.**

**However, that is not important. What is, is that I _am_ back, and I wrote this chapter in a hurry. It really shows. I'll let anyone who decides to do a review/vote decide the next chapter. As an added note, due to work, I can't spare the time to write every chapter myself. My 'group' appear to have forgotten about this account entirely, and they have problems of their own. If you want to help, just send a PM.**

**My thanks to anyone still reading this.**

**~C**


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